VI
“Star’s late this morning.”
“I know.” Anxiously, Frances peered up and down the street, looking in vain for a small wagon drawn by an unusually patient long-eared mule. “And she’s always so punctual. It isn’t like her not to be right on time.”
“And didn’t we arrange to meet early with her, to find out how things went with Mr. Yancey last night? Young Master Yancey,” the housekeeper turned in an aside to her charge, “I know this isn’t a lot of fun for you at the moment, but kicking at the tree won’t get my attention any faster.”
“Aw, gee whiz.” Gloomily, Rob shoved his hands into his pockets and cast about for a new activity. “Then how’s about I jist head out for a walk by my ownself?”
Sarah sniffed. “That’ll be the day. Do you know how many riffraffy types hang around, getting good honest folks into trouble?”
“No,” said Rob, brightening. “How many?”
“I have an idea,” put in Frances at this point. She bent forward, hands on knees, as if imparting some great secret. “Did you know there’s a whole toy section in the Emporium, only begging to be explored? What do you think, shall we go see?”
From bright to beaming, then a nod with gusto. “Ab-so-lute-ly!” he brought that out with pride.
Smiling across at her companion, Frances patted the small boy on his tousled head. “Then absolutely we need to visit there, straightaway.”
With Rob skipping happily along several steps ahead—and singing some nonsensical song that earned the smiles of passersby—the two women were able to talk more freely.
“My brother refused to give me any details about last night,” Frances began. “Not one word of explanation or description.”
“Really?”
“However, he did seem to be extraordinarily cheerful this morning. He was actually whistling on his way to the breakfast table. And he took the stairs two at a time.”
“Did he?”
“He planned to meet Matthew at the office later on. He was grinning like a Halloween pumpkin when he told me that.”
“Was he, now?”
Frances halted short, long enough to stamp her foot in exasperation. “Sarah!”
“Yes?”
The one word response was accompanied by a dimple. Frances nearly dropped her reticule. During the past month of their association, during their times of shared laughter and shared history, Sarah had not produced one dimple. Where had that come from?
“Robert Malachai Yancey,” Sarah digressed to call ahead, “no further, please. That’s plenty far to keep your distance.”
“Okay, Mrs. Coleman,” he called back, good-humoredly. In form and coloring he was a miniature of his father, already taller than the average child, with an intelligence and acumen surprising for his age. “But you might try keepin’ up with me.”
Amusement crinkled the housekeeper’s faded blue eyes. “Oh, he is a pistol, that one,” she murmured. “All right, Frannie. You want to know what happened last night between your brother and me. If anything happened.”
“It seems only fair,” said Frances tartly, “since I was the only one left home by myself to twiddle my thumbs.”
“Spinning your web, more likely. He kissed me.”
“Kissed you! Why, Sarah Coleman!”
There, that elusive dimple again. In fact, two of them.
Frances eyed her friend with speculation and curiosity. “And...was it—?”
“It was very nice, Frannie. A very proper kiss good-night. On the cheek.” A hint of mischief now in the slanted sideways glance.
“Ah. Well, at least he behaved himself.”
“Of course he did. He has his sister’s example to follow.”
A silent minute ticked by, then another, while they strolled along the wooden walk. In the ongoing city-wide building boom, the distant noise of sawing and hammering was never far distant. Nor was the rattle of passing wagons, loaded to the rims, and the neighing or clomping of draft horses, and the occasional curse or shout of a drover. Some yards away, young Rob had stopped to watch a cart being unpacked of boxes and crates.
“This place never stops growing,” observed Frances, who admired such energetic hustle and bustle. “Whether it’s improvement or not is open to—”
“He wants to see me again. Just me. Alone. For dinner at the hotel, or a night at the theatre.”
A gleeful light broke and slowly spread across her features. “Well, it’s about time. Took him long enough.” Pausing, she peered at Sarah more intently in an attempt to read her mood. “Sarah. It seemed to me a good match, you and William. You do like him a little, don’t you?”
Staring straight ahead, watching the boy who was watching the cart, Sarah murmured, “I do like him. I like him a lot. He’s a kind and caring man, with a wonderful sense of humor.”
“Well, then.” Frances felt inordinately pleased that at least one of her arrangements was working out as she had planned. “He’s never married, you know. And it’s about time he sets up housekeeping on his own. We get along like oil and vinegar. Here, come join us, Rob. There’s the Emporium.”
The ladies were standing near the fabric counter, ostensibly looking over dress patterns while keeping a careful eye on Rob in the small toy section, when Frances once again voiced her concerns about Star’s nonappearance. Few customers had meandered their way this mid-morning hour, and she able to speak freely.
“It does seem odd that she’s nowhere around,” Sarah agreed, somewhat distracted.
So many choices: the light green bonnet with a handful of cabbage roses or the flat straw skimmer and its flattering pink bow? What was William’s favorite color? Would he notice a new hat, and compliment her on how well it suited her complexion?
Frances had leaned back against the paneled wall, both arms folded across her breast in a very unladylike manner. “She’s always in town by now. Something just doesn’t feel right, Sarah.”
The soft caramel-colored velvet, edged in blue grosgrain ribbon. Definitely that one: a charming and unusual combination. Satisfied by her choice, Sarah sighed and re-directed her attention to what was most pressing. “Didn’t she mention a plan to go visit her parents?”
“Yes. But later on...in a few days.” Discontent, the teacher glanced about the Emporium’s wide variety of merchandise, as if by wishing alone she would see Star suddenly appear. “Besides, we spoke of her walk home, with Matt. I’m so anxious to find out what happened.”
A small tow-headed boy about Rob’s age had wandered away from his mother to explore whatever toys the establishment might offer. Happily the youngsters were beginning to examine wooden trains, a horse and carriage made of tin, several sets of drums, and an assortment of miniature painted soldiers with their military equipment.
“Do you think she may have met with an accident?” Sarah’s tentative utterance echoed the words Frances had not dared speak aloud.
“I don’t know. But I do know,” she straightened, suddenly filled with purpose and resolve, “that we need to go find William—and Matthew, if the two are together; even if they’re busy on another case. Someone with more experience in these matters simply must investigate.”
The two certainly were together, but hardly busy. On a good day, an easy day, William could complete paperwork or walk about his town, supervising, to ensure that all was as it should be, while one or two of his deputies handled actual complaints and arrests. At this time, shortly before the late August noon, the sheriff and the Ranger had decided to occupy boardwalk chairs just outside his office door.
Neither had much to say at the moment, despite William’s invitation to sit and “chew the fat” for a while. Both were still lost in thought concerning last night’s activities.
William’s were marvelously optimistic, upbeat, and heartened for the future.
Sarah has such nice blue eyes, with a twinkle that catches your attention, and a kind, gentle, humorous way about her. At least she laughs at my jokes. Not to me
ntion bein’ pretty as a painted wagon. And good with kids, too; look at how she takes care of Matt’s motherless son, bringin’ him up to respect his elders and to look at life just like she does. A feller could do worse. A feller could do a lot worse.
She’s—what, maybe mid-thirties? Not too old to remarry and start a family of her own. Me neither, as far as that goes. Hell, I’m only pushin’ forty, got a good job and a nice house. Reckon her and me gettin’ together—it’s somethin’ that could happen easy. As long as I don’t scare her off. As long as I don’t make the wrong moves.
“Think I’ll get me a refill on my coffee,” William abruptly said into the silence. “How about you, Matt?”
“Sheriff, I toldja before, this stuff tastes about as bad as the inside of a cow. So—no, thanks. One cup a day is all I can deal with.”
“Huh. All right, then. Back in a minute.”
Which left Matt briefly alone, to think his own thoughts. Not nearly as cheerful as those of his friend. Morbid, in fact; downright depressing.
What the hell did I figure I was doin’, treatin’ her like that? Just b’cause she’s the first woman since Elisa died that I’ve felt any interest in. Sure, maybe she gave back as good as she got, but that was no reason to let her see just how far I could go. Dammit. Prob’ly spooked her for all and good by now. I should be hawse whipped. Or, at the very least, given a hard kick in the backside.
Should I try seein’ her again? Makin’ another apology and hopin’ she’ll listen? Maybe Frannie would take my point of view, help smooth things over. Dammit. Sure would like to make things right. Spend more time together, maybe build a relationship. She’s a fine-lookin’ woman, with a fine character. And I’m interested. I’m definitely interested. Maybe if I—
“Hello, Matthew.”
“Uh.” The voice struck right in the middle of his ruminations, like a hammer to an anvil, and Matt was rudely jerked back to reality. Quickly, he surged to his feet, with a tip of his hat. “Good mawnin’, Frannie. Mrs. Coleman. Rob. You all been out shoppin’ again?”
“Yes, yes, we—well, somewhat. Matt, where is that fool brother of mine?”
“Right here, Frannie,” William offered a mild reply to his sister’s gibe as he emerged from the shadowed doorway. “What’s goin’ on? You sound worried.”
“Well, I am. We haven’t seen or heard from Star today, and it’s up to you to find out why.”
William blinked. “But, Frannie, we just had supper with her last night. She was fine when Matt walked her home. At least—” He turned in appeal, “—she was fine, wasn’t she?”
A deep florid blush crawled up from the Ranger’s muscular neck into his sunburnt cheeks. “Uh.”
“I knew it!” Frances pounced like a hawk with talons extended. “I knew something was wrong. What did you do, Matthew Yancey?”
Matt took a hurried step backward. In Frances Goddard he recognized a fearless foe, one he would be wise not to cross. “Just—uh—I sorta—kissed her good night.”
“What else?”
“Aw, c’mon, Frannie,” her brother pleaded for restraint. “That ain’t the kinda thing you should be askin’. A man likes to keep his lovemakin’ private.”
In the shade of the shingled canopy overhead, Sarah glanced his way. It needed only her small, significant smile to send a sudden blush rising into the sheriff’s features, as well.
“Well, private as can be, anyway,” he amended. “So don’t you go gettin’ all over Matt’s case. He done what you asked him; he walked the girl home. How’s come you need to know any more details than that?”
“Because something has happened to her, Will,” said Frances in low, intense tones. Hands planted firmly on hips, she had backed down from her original warrior’s stance but refused to give way completely. “I feel it in my bones. I’m very worried.”
For the past several argumentative minutes, Matt had been considering his own role in last night’s disastrous encounter, and various outcomes that might have resulted therefrom. Hiding in her cabin, due to emotional hurt, was one possibility; sulking was another; off and about with abject disappointment a third. Or a combination of all three. Who could tell, when it came to dealing with a woman? The thought of foul play as a fourth possibility seemed almost ludicrous.
Now, having reached a decision, he volunteered to go see if she was home. Or if not, whether anyone had a clue as to her whereabouts. And then haul her back here, posthaste, to answer for upsetting her friends. “If that would relieve your distress, Frances,” he added politely.
“It would, indeed, Matt. Thank you. I suppose Sarah and I could have done that ourselves, but—”
“But you didn’t know exactly what to expect, or how to proceed. I know. Rob, please stay here with Mrs. Coleman till I get back.”
“All right, Daddy,” nodded the boy. “I gots this stuff to play with, anyway.” He extended an armful of treasure, for display: one hand-carved wooden whistle, a spinning top, and several cloth-covered books.
“Good God!” Matt was understandably startled. “Where’dja get all that, son?”
He pointed. “Miss Goddard.”
“Frances—”
“I have an account there, it’s nothing. Now, do hush and hurry up; you need to see Star. And please bring her along when you return.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Another touch of fingers to his hat brim, and Matt was hastening away.
Today’s walk, taken solo instead of as half of a couple, during bright sunlit hours instead of a dreamy and romantic moon-drenched interval, offered little besides the opportunity for a brisk walk and more contemplation of his wrongs.
Marching along got him to Star’s cabin in short time. Reaching it, Matt paused to absorb and appreciate the look of the place, as a whole. Neatly swept, carefully repaired, every detail in good order. As surely it would not be, were there problems.
Still, an air of inordinate quiet lay over all. As if the snug little house were holding its breath, waiting for its owner to return from some other destination.
Matt shook his head. Strange notion, which made no sense.
He climbed the step and knocked at the door. “H’lo, Star?”
Silence. So peculiar a silence, that, if he were a fanciful man, it might be seen as fraught with mystery, or even tragedy. “Star—Miss Mendoza—you in there?”
Another knock, more forceful. And this time the door slowly opened partway, with a soft creak.
Unlocked. Most unusual.
Drawing his Colt revolver from its holster, Matt cautiously pushed in the rest of the way, peering around as he entered. Nothing. Nobody. The cabin’s interior of parlor / kitchen presented the same picture of apple-pie order as the outside. Every stick of furniture apparently in place, every incidental of pillow or afghan or rug smooth and unruffled.
“Star?”
Still silence. A heavy, brooding silence.
He moved further into the room, glancing from right to left, then stepped through the open doorway into a bedroom. From there, a light, feminine scent drifted out.
Odd. In the middle of the floor stood a tin tub filled with water, and a crumpled-up towel beside it. Besides that, what proved to be, upon cursory examination, a white muslin night gown. Matt bent to dip a free hand into the water. Cold. Or, if not cold, at least not hot. Room temperature. And the towel held only a faint feel of dampness.
Wherever she had gone, then, it wasn’t so very long ago.
From wall to wall, his gaze encompassed the compact space. A couple of paintings here and there, a couple of kerosene lamps whose chimneys stood clean and shining, a couple of throw rugs. A full-sized brass bed, covered with a colorful quilt and several pillows. And, on the small wooden table, a Colt revolver holstered into its gun belt, very like his own. Interesting.
Outdoors once again, he checked the shed. Only Star’s wagon there, filled with her stockpile of goods for sale, neatly stored under a canvas cover. Ezekiel plopped his chin onto the top rail of the cor
ral and brayed for attention. Matt paused to rub his ears. Plenty of shade, plenty of water, plenty of grass; the animal was well cared for. Like everything else on Goldenstar’s property.
Then where the hell was she?
The tidy aspect of grounds and house—other than those minor forgotten elements pertaining to her bath—pointed to a recent absence. A long walk, perhaps. A cooling-off period.
That could be a positive thing. If she were given time to think things over, it could work to his benefit. She might come to realize that he hadn’t meant any disrespect toward her. He’d simply been carried away by her beauty and charm into pushing past accepted boundaries.
Try explaining that in a way that sounded sincere!
Meanwhile, he would pull Frances aside for a private talk. Without revealing too much about his own crass behavior, he might be able to pry out some words of advice from the matchmaker herself.
VII
“This here’s the new lady of the house,” Franklin introduced her to the staff. “Now, you may notice that she ain’t actin’ real happy to be with us. But that’ll change once she settles in. So I want all of you t’ take damn good care of her.”
Endurance. One needed only to endure a particularly dark, unpleasant situation, just to get through to the other side of light and hope. In a juxtaposition between her father’s Catholic faith and her mother’s tribal heritage, she was left with an intriguing mixture of both. This too would pass.
Thus Star stood silent and motionless, enduring the feel of his arm laid heavily around her shoulders, enduring the nearness of his big bulky body next to hers, enduring the hated sound of his unctuous voice in her ears. This too would pass.
Being confronted by her stoic disposition seemed to provoke Bower into a need to provoke her. A veritable impasse of emotion, demanding more. Grinning like a loon, he reached across with his free hand to cup and lift her breast in its draping of white cotton blouse, determined to display ownership to all. Mine. This is mine.
A Western Romance: Matthew Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 2) (Taking the High Road series) Page 5