The Telegraph Proposal

  “She’s always flirting with him”—Isaak inserted—“and she spit tea all over your shirt when you asked her out the last time.”

  “That was two years ago. This”—Windsor circled a hand around his hair and beard—“takes some getting used to. And I don’t believe Miss Carline has ever flirted with Geddes. She spends half her time at the Palmer house, so of course she’s friendlier with Geddes than with most other men.”

  “So why did you ask Miss Yancey on a buggy ride?” Hale brought the subject back to the important point.

  Windsor combed his fingers through his beard. “I’m not proud of it, but the idea of asking Miss Carline out makes my knees wobble. I’ve not asked a woman out for ... a very long time. Seeing as I’m out of practice, I asked Yancey what I should do about it. She suggested I ask any woman out, just to get the words out of my mouth.”

  “Seems reasonable.” And made breathing easier. Hale turned to Isaak. “What’s your dispute with Mr. Buchanan’s story?”

  Isaak tugged at his shirt collar. “I haven’t told you the whole truth about what I made Yancey promise before agreeing to help with your campaign.”

  Hale lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

  “Before I met Zoe”—Isaak’s voice softened when he spoke his wife’s name—“I didn’t see how Yancey could pursue you with such single-mindedness.”

  It was because she knew—just knew—they belonged together. Which wasn’t logical, and yet her reasoning had repeated itself inside Hale’s head since she’d said it that morning. “And now?”

  Isaak looked to his right before bringing his eyes back to Hale. “When you love someone as much as I love my wife—as much as Yancey claims to love you—you don’t just get over it. I asked her to put aside her designs on you until the election was over. Not forever, just until November.”

  Hale blinked. “You what?”

  “You’ve said yourself that campaigning is difficult for you. I wanted to make sure you didn’t have any distractions until it was over.” Isaak jutted his chin. “I didn’t count on you smiling at her or asking her to be your friend.”

  “So you think she broke her promise to you because I encouraged her?” Hale crossed his arms over his chest. “That she’s reverted to trying to make me jealous?”

  Despite her promise to him to never chase after him or make him the subject of her romantic silliness again?

  He rubbed a sudden pain in his sternum. His mind whirled with the various facts and interpretations. Had he fallen into a trap? He slowed his thinking. Ran the entire incident through from start to finish. “Windsor said he was the one to approach Yancey. Unless he lied about that—”

  “Windsor doesn’t lie.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  Hale looked between the two men, his arms falling to his sides. “Then I don’t see how Yancey manipulated him into approaching her about a carriage ride.”

  “Maybe”—Isaak shrugged—“but it still seems rather convenient for the conversation to happen just as we came upon it.”

  True. “Is that what your discussion was about?” Hale cut a look at the spot where Yancey and Isaak had argued. “And what did she say?”

  “That I was impossible . . . and wrong.” Isaak’s shoulders dropped an inch. “I guess I’m not as over being benevolently arrogant as I thought. I’m sorry, Hale. This is a matter for you to decide, not me.”

  Hale thought through his options. Yancey had promised to never chase him again. Not to stop chasing him or quit chasing him, or any other word which could be misconstrued for delaying her pursuit. She’d said never. Had she lied or told the truth? Was the hurt on her face when she saw his face frozen in shock real or an act? If she’d falsified her reaction, she belonged on the stage. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility, but ...

  Hale lifted his chin to look Isaak in the eye. “I’ve jumped to conclusions about Yancey’s intentions quite enough over the past two months. I think it’s time I gave her the benefit of the doubt.”

  Isaak stretched his neck from side to side. “Then I will do the same.”

  Windsor bobbed his head as if to say, I approve.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I need to find Yancey.” Hale bowed and left. He needed to find her quickly. She might think he’d assumed the worst of her. It was logical on her part—especially when Isaak already had.

  Hale headed in the direction he’d last seen her. Too many people wanted to chat, shake his hand, and congratulate him on his speech. He did his best to be polite, but he wanted to make them all disappear with a wave of his hand. He finally caught a glimpse of Yancey through a small break in the crowd ahead. She was looking around as though searching.

  Relief wilted his posture. She was trying to find him.

  Only the instant their eyes met, her face hardened and she looked away. She was most definitely angry with him.

  His chest tightened, but he kept a smile on his face. She wouldn’t want him to make a scene. As he moved closer to her, he continued to greet everyone as though they were the most important people in the world at that moment. Just as Yancey had taught him.

  The tactic worked. By the time he reached her side, her expression had softened. “You’re getting better at this.”

  “Thank you.” He offered her his arm. “I learned from the best.”

  She shot him a skeptical—or was it perplexed?—glance before putting her hand on his sleeve. “I’m looking for my parents.”

  I was hoping you were looking for me. Hale’s heartbeat picked up speed. What would happen if he said that aloud? He didn’t like the tension between them. Not after the way they’d cleared the air that morning. But he didn’t know how to start this conversation. Tease her for thinking ill of him? Ask her what she’d thought he thought when he observed her with Windsor? Hale foresaw multiple ways either could end badly. His fingers itched for a pencil and paper to write out his options before deciding on the best one.

  He cleared his throat. “I have something I need to say to you, but I’m finding it difficult to know how to start.”

  “How about we begin walking so we don’t draw attention to ourselves.” She was looking away from him, a smile fixed on her face.

  “Of course.” Hale glanced around the area and started walking in the direction with the least number of people. “I believe you said you were looking for your parents?”

  “I am.”

  He followed her lead, smiling at everyone around them. “Because of what Isaak said to you?”

  She flinched.

  He drew her to a halt and turned to face her. “I hope you know that—although I was shocked to see you with Windsor—I did not assume nor do I believe . . .” Hale looked left and right to be sure no one was stretching their ears toward them. “. . . what Isaak said.”

  Yancey didn’t smile. Or move. She just stared up at him for the longest time.

  Hale held his breath. Her verdict mattered. More than he’d ever imagined it would.

  She exhaled and ducked her chin. When she looked back up, there was a sardonic smile lifting the corners of her lips. “I guess you aren’t the only one who can jump to a wrong conclusion.”

  He let out the breath he’d been holding. “We are quite the pair.”

  She turned and held out her hand, tucking it in the crook of his arm when he offered it to her. “Then I guess we’d better get back to the business of getting you elected.”

  Dusk was smudging the edges of the landscape, but Hale felt as though the sun had just risen.

  * * *

  Pounding on his front door awakened Hale with a start. He hunted for his glasses on the table beside his bed with his left hand while tossing off the covers with his right.

  The pounding continued unabated.

  “Coming,” he yelled, but doubted he’d been heard over the constant banging. His fingertips touched wire. Not caring that he was smudging the lenses, he grabbed his glasses and put them on.

&
nbsp; What time was it?

  After quickly dressing, he hurried out of his bedroom, through the living room—where moonlight illuminated the clock on his mantel just enough for him to see that it was twenty minutes past midnight—and down the steps.

  “Coming!” he shouted again, the pounding so ruthless, he feared his front door would come loose from the framework.

  “Hale? Hale?” He recognized Isaak Gunderson’s voice through the wood. “Hale! Open up!”

  He turned the doorknob and threw open the door. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Mac. He’s been shot.”

  Hale stumbled back. “Where?”

  “In Bear Gulch.”

  “No, I mean in the shoulder? In the arm? Where?” Don’t let it be the heart. Or the stomach. Or the kidneys.

  Hale kept praying over various vital organs until Isaak said, “In the leg. He managed to bind it up and ride back to Helena, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  Hale lifted his hat off the stand beside the door and stepped outside. “Where is he now?”

  “St. Peter’s Hospital.”

  Hale pulled his door shut. “Let’s go.”

  Isaak ran to the opposite side of his new carriage and hoisted himself into the seat in a smooth, athletic motion.

  Hale clambered up, missing his footing and knocking his chin on the floorboard when he fell. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. He climbed up more slowly, running his teeth along the inside of his cheek until he felt where he’d bitten it. As soon as he was seated, he pressed the spot between his fingers and tongue to stop the bleeding.

  Isaak snapped the reins over the horses and the carriage jolted into motion. “There’s more. Deputy Alderson was killed. So was Mac’s horse. He had to ride Alderson’s horse home.”

  Hale closed his eyes.

  “There’s one more thing.”

  Hale looked over at Isaak and prepared for something worse.

  “Emilia is with child. She announced it to her family several days ago, before Mr. Stanek left for Chicago.”

  To testify against their former landlord. Mr. Stanek had asked Hale for advice about what to say. Even if only half of what the Staneks endured at the hands of that man were true, Hale hoped they sentenced him to living the rest of his days in one of his own tenement buildings.

  “She told me because she wanted to give us plenty of time to find a replacement for her at the store.”

  “When is she due?” Emilia and Mac had only been married four months.

  “Late January, early February.” Isaak cracked a small smile. “Ever the responsible Emilia.”

  “How’s she taking the news of Mac’s injury?”

  “I haven’t seen her yet. Zoe and I were already at the hospital when she suggested you’d want to be there, too.” Isaak slowed to turn right. “I hope you don’t mind, but I told Zoe I would wait for Emilia as long as she wants. Zoe is going to get a ride home with someone already at the hospital. Can you find your own way home?”

  “If nothing else, I can walk.” Hale spent the remainder of the trip praying for Mac, Emilia, the Alderson family, and all the lawmen whose job was to keep civilization and criminal chaos on opposite sides of a squat, flimsy wall.

  When they reached the hospital, Hale jumped down from the carriage before it stopped rolling. The three-story brick structure looked more like a home on Millionaire’s Hill, with its steep-pitched roof on the right side and rounded turret on the left. By day it welcomed patients, but by moonlight it loomed like the setting of an Edgar Allan Poe story of the macabre.

  Hale ran inside but came to a halt when he saw Yancey Palmer, her face wet with tears, holding Carline Pope, who was weeping uncontrollably. Marshal Valentine was standing next to them, his face white.

  “Mac?” Hale managed, although his lungs had solidified inside his chest.

  Quinn leaned down to say something to Yancey. She scattered glances around the room until she found Hale.

  In that moment, an invisible but tangible cord bound him to her in a way that defied description. It wasn’t love—it couldn’t be—but whatever it was, he found himself walking toward her as though his feet had developed their own will.

  “A moment, Hale.”

  He heard the words, felt the hand on his shoulder, and still couldn’t look away from Yancey.

  “Mac is still in surgery.”

  That jerked Hale’s attention to Quinn. “What did you say?”

  The marshal lifted his chin to acknowledge someone behind Hale.

  An instant later, Isaak appeared. “Don’t tell me Mac is dead.”

  “He’s not.” Quinn didn’t sound or look as if he was delivering good news. “I was just telling Hale that Mac is still in surgery.”

  Isaak spun around so he no longer faced Yancey and Carline. “Then what are they crying about?”

  Quinn’s gaze dropped to the floor. He took a breath, then squared his shoulders to look Isaak in the eye. “Carline’s parents were killed in a carriage accident on the way home tonight.”

  Hale started for Yancey. His need to comfort her was so fierce, it shocked him.

  She kept her left arm around her friend as she reached toward Hale with her right hand.

  He took it between both of his. Carline’s face was buried in her shoulder, so he addressed Yancey. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her chin trembled, a tear dripping onto her blouse.

  “What happened?” The lawyer in him needed facts. Facts could be understood. Facts could be put in order. He could make sense of facts.

  Nothing about the emotions vibrating through his body made sense. He’d never felt them before. He didn’t know what they meant. Or what he was supposed to do with them. Or how to put them into words.

  But something had just changed inside him.

  Hale wanted to press her hand to his heart and let her feel the pounding inside his chest—to let it explain what he couldn’t put into words.

  “Where’s my son?” Madame Lestraude’s brash voice assaulted his ears, breaking the spell.

  Hale took a step closer to Yancey and Carline, intent on shielding them should the brothel owner turn crass in her distress. When he turned around, he was surprised by the number of people crowded into the foyer. His aunt and uncle stood with Yancey’s parents and the Pawlikowskis—the women watching Yancey as if they were waiting for permission to take their turn consoling Carline. Quinn had joined Jakob, Isaak, and Zoe Gunderson. They were facing away from Hale, the twins’ broad backs hiding whoever was behind them, although Hale thought he saw Windsor Buchanan’s profile. Off to the side, Mac’s county deputies and Quinn’s city marshals huddled together, their eyes scanning the room. The rest of the foyer was filled with people Hale recognized but couldn’t name.

  And in the center of them all—but standing alone—was Madame Lestraude, a bejeweled hand at her neck. Nico squeezed between Isaak and Zoe. He walked straight to the madam, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and leaned close to say something. The madam nodded, and the two of them walked closer to the window overlooking the front lawn, the people in their way shifting like an invisible force pushed them aside.

  “Mrs. McCall?” Hale snapped his attention toward the voice. Miss Young, the superintendent of the hospital, was making her way across the crowded foyer.

  Emilia pushed between Isaak and Jakob. “I’m here. How is he?”

  “He’s going to be fine.”

  A cheer went up, prompting Miss Young’s immediate, “Please. We have other patients who are trying to rest.”

  “When can I see him?” Emilia wrapped both hands around her waist.

  Hale’s eye caught on Madame Lestraude. She was glaring at Uncle Jonas.

  What was between the two of them?

  Sure, the woman had shown up at the picnic today—was it still today?—wearing a “Vote for Hale” ribbon, but that didn’t explain the antagonism sparking between her and his uncle. It was too ... personal? Or maybe vitriolic was a bet
ter word.

  “Madame?” Emilia drew Hale’s attention. She held out her hand, palm up, toward her mother-in-law. “Would you please join me? I’m sure Mac will want to see you.”

  Madame licked her lips, raised her chin, and walked straight to Emilia. The crowd between them parted, as if the madam was the one who was sick instead of her son. The two women held hands as Miss Young led them away.

  As soon as they disappeared from view, everyone started talking at once. The only one Hale paid attention to was Mrs. Palmer, who hurried to her daughter. “Come, Yancey. Let’s take Carline home. There’s nothing more for us to do here.”

  Yancey pulled a few inches away from Carline. “Now that you know Mac is going to be all right, are you ready to go?” Carline must have whispered she was, or else the two friends spoke without words. Yancey shifted her embrace to wrap one arm around Carline’s shoulders, leaving room for Mrs. Palmer to wrap her arm around Carline’s waist. As the trio shuffled past, Yancey gave Hale a sad smile that pierced him to the heart.

  Everyone who’d been talking a moment ago ceased to do so as Yancey, Carline, and Mrs. Palmer crossed the foyer. Mr. Palmer, the Pawlikowskis, and Aunt Lily trailed behind them like a funeral procession. The crowd parted to let them pass.

  Isaak bent close to his wife’s ear. She nodded, then joined Aunt Lily.

  Uncle Jonas stepped into the center of the wake. “Go home, everyone. There’s nothing more to be done here tonight. You”—he pointed his finger at the lawmen, who weren’t moving—“go on. You’re going to have a busy day tomorrow. Marshal Valentine and I will stay behind and keep you informed if anything changes.”

  They grumbled their insistence on staying with their fellow officer until Quinn added, “Judge Forsythe is right. I’m going to need you sharp tomorrow, so get some sleep and we’ll talk in the morning.”

  Soon the foyer was empty save for Hale, Isaak, Jakob, Uncle Jonas, and Quinn.

  Hale went directly to the city marshal. “What happened?”

  Quinn reached inside his vest pocket and withdrew a notebook. “I’m fairly sure the accident has nothing to do with the notes Carline and Yancey—”