The Telegraph Proposal

  Hale sat on the edge of his desk and picked up an envelope. “Charles Cannon found some counterfeit bills in the money you gave him to pay for the fabric you bought last week.”

  She’d used it for banners to decorate the grange hall. “I can’t return it now that it’s been cut, but I could repay him.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Hale set down the envelope. “I’ll reimburse him.”

  Then why was he asking her about it? She looked between him and Mac, trying to decide why they looked so upset. She gasped. “Is Mr. Cannon accusing me of deliberately passing on counterfeit money?”

  “Of course not.” Mac sliced his hand through the air. He winced and then rubbed his thigh. “Amazing how many muscles are connected to the one that’s been shot.”

  “Next time be more careful.” Hale’s admonishment was spoken with the kind of teasing only good friends could share.

  Mac acknowledged it with a mocking, “Ha, ha.”

  Yancey turned her chair to better see the sheriff. “How are the Aldersons?”

  “As well as can be expected, considering they lost a son and brother.”

  “I heard Eli has joined your deputies.” Hale gripped the edges of his desk with both hands. “How is he doing?”

  “He’s green—like we all were when we first started. I’m keeping him close.” Mac rubbed his thigh again. “But back to that money. I need to see the record of your contributors.”

  Hale stood, walked around his desk, leaned over to open a desk drawer, and pulled out the top file. “Here, but I’m not sure how helpful it will be. Yancey has elicited contributions from half of Helena.” The last was said with admiration.

  The real kind. Not what in years past she would read into his voice afterward, using her imagination.

  The Lord is my light. The Lord is the strength.

  Mac ran his finger down the list. “Is this everyone?”

  Yancey sat taller, trying to see over the file edge. “I’ve written down everyone I’ve received money from, but I’m not the only person who’s solicited contributions.”

  Mac looked at Hale. “Who else?”

  Hale recited several names, his fingers ticking them off as he went. He looked to Yancey. “Am I missing anyone?”

  “Did you mention your aunt and uncle?”

  “Right. Sorry”—Hale shifted his gaze to Mac—“that goes without saying.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she countered in the same mocking tone Mac had used earlier.

  Her teasing had very different responses. Mac jerked his attention to her, the surprise on his face quickly replaced by a wince. Hale, on the opposite spectrum, laughed outright. “Yancey tells me I think too much and don’t speak enough.”

  She communicated her justification by raising her brows. “Like the other day, when you neglected to tell me that Mollie Fisk and Jefferson Brady reconciled—again—so the wedding is back on—again—because you thought I would already know.”

  Hale inclined his head toward her. “A hit, madam. I acknowledge it.”

  Mac’s gaze alternated between her and Hale, but he said nothing.

  Men. Why were they so uncommunicative? What she wouldn’t give to know what both he and Hale were thinking.

  She turned the topic of conversation to business before she let her imagination run amok. “Everything is set for tomorrow night, so we need to talk about what’s next on your agenda.”

  Hale pushed his glasses back into place. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”

  Of all his little mannerisms, his constant readjustment of his glasses was the one she found most endearing. Yancey lowered her gaze to her lap until she was certain that particular truth wasn’t written on her face. “Are you up for another speaking event? People like hearing your ideas.”

  “Or like attending your”—Mac cut a glance at Yancey—“parties.”

  She didn’t hear any mocking in his voice, nor did she see any humor in Hale’s expression. “Does that bother you?”

  “Not at all.” Hale perched on the edge of his desk. “You’re great at making people feel welcome. I’d be a fool not to recognize that as a gift and appreciate how you’re using it on my behalf.”

  The praise warmed her heart. Should she compliment him in return? Or would that be too brazen when they were just friends? If he was anyone but Hale, she wouldn’t hesitate, so she needed to treat him the same way. “In return, let me say you’re now much better at handling crowds. A number of people have remarked that you aren’t as”—rigid seemed too mean, but she couldn’t think of another word.

  “Stodgy?” Hale supplied.

  “I was trying to think of something nicer, but yes.” She opened the drawstrings of her reticule and pulled out the small calendar she’d made for herself. “When would you like to have this event, and don’t say next week.”

  He chuckled. “How about a month from now, and then another a month after that?”

  “That will be around the time of the Harvest Festival.” She turned to Mac. “Do you remember the dates?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  She huffed. “Because it takes place outside the city limits and you are the county sheriff.”

  Mac crossed his arms over his chest. “Doesn’t mean I know the dates.”

  “Fine. I’ll talk to Carline . . . no.” Yancey swallowed down the pain of missing her best friend. “I’ll talk to Geddes about the dates. He’s planning on entering the hot-air balloon race again, and I’m sure he’ll let us paint ‘Hale for Helena’ on his balloon.” Too bad their brother-in-law, Roy, wasn’t planning to come. He’d be too busy with his new daughter.

  “I take it by the crease between your eyebrows”—Hale drew her attention—“that you’re thinking about scheduling a campaign event at the same time.”

  “Maybe even having a booth at the festival, if Superintendent Watson will allow it.” The man wasn’t her favorite person after the way he’d fired her sister almost two years ago. “I’ll have to be charming.”

  Hale’s smile warmed her to her toes. “I believe in your charm.”

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think Hale was flirting with her. Yancey stood. “Don’t get up, Mac. I just remembered I need to be somewhere.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She had nowhere specific to go, but she needed to be somewhere other than Hale’s office.

  Because being friends with Hale Adams was becoming a problem.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hale walked Yancey to the door where, like her mother, she stopped. Unlike her mother, she didn’t pat his cheek.

  Which was disappointing. He wanted to know what her hand would feel like against his skin. How he would react. He needed to know if the strange emotions in the hospital foyer and the longing to make a home with her were real or illusions. If her touch would ignite his soul.

  He wasn’t a cold man, though some had accused him of such. He had a deep reserve of love and passion. Standing near her, he felt it bubbling up in anticipation of the moment a woman’s caress set it free.

  She was tying the strings of her straw hat under her chin. He started to do it for her—a small way to make contact—but she jerked away, the shock on her face clear. “I, uh, I’m happy to reimburse Mr. Cannon. That’s what friends do, you know.”

  Was he imagining it, or did she put greater emphasis on the word friends than the rest of her sentence?

  “Because that’s what we are,” she continued. “Friends.”

  This time the emphasis was unmistakable.

  What was he supposed to do now? Say now? He’d flirted with her a little bit. No, that wasn’t right. He’d tried to flirt and failed. Even that didn’t seem like the right word.

  Was there a verb stronger than failed? Maybe crashed. Or flunked.

  He’d assumed that, once he made his feelings known, she’d be delighted. Instead, she’d recoiled from him.

  Now that was the perfect word. Recoiled.

  “Don’t worry about Mr. Cannon,” he
managed through his dejection. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Yancey dipped her chin, then scurried out the door, tying the knot as she went, clearly eager to be away from him.

  Even though they were friends.

  The moment he returned to the office after escorting her to the door, Mac pierced him with a frown. “What’s going on between you and Yancey?”

  Hale strolled to the window, watching her until she turned right onto Sixth Street. He shifted his focus to Mac. “That’s a good question.”

  “To which I assume there’s a good answer.” Mac gripped the lapels of his brown jacket, the badge on his chest gleaming where it caught the late-afternoon sunlight.

  Hale walked to his desk and sat down. “I’ve had a slight change of heart.”

  Mac’s face broke into a grin. “Don’t tell me Yancey finally caught you.”

  “She has, but now it seems her interest in me doesn’t extend beyond friendship.” Hale pushed his glasses back in place while Mac hooted with laughter between grunts of pain. “You’re going to reopen your wound.”

  Mac nodded as he gripped his thigh, his mirth unabated.

  “Were you anyone other than an injured sheriff, I would throw you out of my office.” Hale pointed toward the foyer attached to his waiting area.

  Mac brought his laughter under control. “Injured or not, I’d like to see you try.” He took several deep breaths. “Sorry, but you have to admit, after five years of avoiding Yancey Palmer like an infectious disease, this turnaround is funny.”

  Hale rubbed his forehead. “I’m well aware of the irony of my situation, but I find myself ill-prepared to handle it. I thought it would be a simple matter of telling Yancey about my change of heart, but she only wishes to be friends. I’m beginning to hate the word.”

  “I wonder if all men find themselves at a complete loss when it comes to loving a woman.”

  “God’s way of keeping us humble, you think?” Hale shifted the clay mug sitting between his cast-iron telephone and typewriter a fraction to the left, well aware that it was a new nervous habit now that he was determined to keep his desk clean. “If you’ve any advice for me, I’m listening.”

  Mac’s eyes went wide. “From me?”

  Hale’s lips twitched despite the misery in his stomach. “I don’t see anyone else here. What do you think? Can I overcome Yancey’s determination to be nothing more than friends, or did I miss my chance with her?”

  “Talk to your aunt or Emilia.” Mac twisted to grab his cane from where it hung on the chair back. “Speaking of my wife, I told her I’d be gone no longer than an hour. Before I go, if more counterfeit money shows up around town, I can’t guarantee others will be as fair-minded as Cannon.”

  “Understandable. I’ll reimburse him.” Hale picked up the envelope with the fake five-dollar bills. “You think this came from Bear Gulch?”

  Mac picked his hat off the floor and put it on. “I can’t say for sure, but it seems a bit too coincidental that, almost as soon as we raided it, fake bills started showing up in Helena.”

  “We’ve been luckier here than other places around Montana.” Hale subscribed to all the major territorial newspapers. They’d been full of stories about counterfeiting for several years.

  “Too lucky.” Mac pressed his hat lower on his head.

  “You think whoever heads up this operation”—Hale waved the envelope—“has intentionally kept it out of Helena?”

  Mac nodded. “Leads me to believe this is home.”

  “Kendrick?”

  “Quinn and I wondered the same thing.” Mac poked the brim of his Stetson higher with a finger. “Last election cycle, your uncle was sure Kendrick was passing out counterfeits. Quinn looked into it but could never prove anything.”

  “So either Kendrick was using real money or his fakes were impossible to detect.” Hale pulled the paper dollars from the envelope. “How did Cannon know these were counterfeit?”

  “Do you have a five-dollar bill handy?”

  “No. That much money goes to the bank immediately.”

  “Good point.” Mac leaned forward, pointing to the picture of James Garfield. “See his hair? On real bills, the fine hairs on the top of his head are less defined.”

  Hale brought the bill closer to his glasses. “I guess I’d have to compare it to the real thing in order to see the difference.”

  Mac’s grunt said, Which is why I asked if you had one. “Makes me think that either Kendrick never used counterfeits last campaign but is this time, or whoever printed those”—he directed a look at the bills—“is a new player.”

  Hale replaced the dollars inside the envelope. “Any guesses as to who?”

  “A few, but no proof.” Mac struggled to his feet. “I need to go.”

  Hale stood up and walked around the desk. “Before you do, may I ask you for a favor?”

  “You can ask.” Mac pushed his cane into the floor.

  “I need to court Yancey without letting her know I’m courting her.”

  Mac squeezed one eyelid shut. “Seems to me a girl that’s been in love once would be easy to convince to fall in love again.”

  Or harder.

  Hale rubbed his left bicep with his right hand. “I was hoping you and Emilia would agree to attend a play or go to dinner or ... I don’t know. Something Yancey would enjoy.”

  “So ask her. Why involve Em and me?”

  “Because last time I asked her to dinner, she insisted that others accompany us.” Hale stopped rubbing his arm. It wasn’t making him any warmer. “I need to show her that I’m not just a stodgy lawyer who stays inside his office all day. At least I’m not anymore,” he added when Mac lowered his chin.

  He tapped his cane as he walked toward the door. “I’ll ask Em, but you might want to enlist Isaak and Zoe, too.”

  Yancey often said, The more, the merrier, but Hale didn’t want to expand the circle of those knowing about his change of heart too far. However, if any men knew how rocky the path to love could be, they were Mac and Isaak.

  Hale opened the front door. “I’ll do that. And Mac?”

  He turned on the front step.

  Gratitude swelled Hale’s throat. “I’m glad you are well.”

  His friend nodded and stepped into the street.

  As Hale watched him go, he wondered what it would be like to go home to a wife. Someone who cared about him more than anything else. Yancey’s face came to mind, and his heart picked up its rhythm while warmth crept up his neck.

  But what if he told her of his change of heart and she laughed? His heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

  Wednesday, August 8, 1888

  “Carline!” Yancey threw her arms around her friend and pulled her into the living room. “Oh, this is just the best birthday present ever. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? When did you get in? Did your uncle come with you? Are you all right?”

  Mother came out from the kitchen. “Yancey dear. Give Carline a moment to breathe.”

  Carline’s sad eyes brightened for an instant. “Good morning, Mrs. Palmer.” Mother held out her arms. Carline pulled away from Yancey to seek shelter in matronly arms.

  “We’re glad you’re home, dearest.” Mother rubbed Carline’s back, the black bombazine fabric making a soft, shushing sound. “Whatever you need, you’ve only to ask.”

  Yancey wiped the corners of her eyes. “How did you get your uncle to agree to let you come home?”

  Carline stepped out of Mother’s embrace. “I stopped crying, packed my bags, and was halfway to the train station before he caught up with me. I told him that either he took me home, or he’d have to lock me in my room. I wasn’t missing my best friend’s birthday for anything.”

  Impressed, Yancey clapped her hands, then gripped them together. “Are you home for good? Please say you are. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Carline’s cheeks pinked in the most becoming way. “I’m hoping it’s for good.”

  Yancey gasped.
“Carline Elizabeth Pope, you tell me everything right this instant.”

  Instead of replying, she pulled a letter from her skirt pocket. The folds were frayed, as though they had been opened and closed a hundred times. She handed it to Yancey. “It’s from Windsor.”

  Mother cut a startled glance at Carline. “Windsor Buchanan?”

  Yancey kept her eye on her friend as she peeled back the edges.

  Carline’s smile was tinged with grief. “Go ahead and read it aloud.”

  Yancey cleared her throat and read.

  Carline held out her hand to take back the letter, her fingers trembling. “What do you suppose he meant by being out of practice? Writing letters?”

  Yancey shook her head. “I didn’t tell you everything about my conversation with him at the Independence . . .” She trailed off, not wishing to bring back the horrible memory attached to the end of that day.

  “It’s all right.” Carline placed a hand on Yancey’s wrist. “We have to take the good with the bad. Uncle Eugene keeps telling me that.”

  “He’s right.” Mother patted Carline’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to chat while I finish washing dishes.”

  “So let’s talk about the good.” Yancey tugged Carline down the hall. When they were in Yancey’s bedroom, she relayed the entire conversation she’d had with Windsor, including his nervousness, how he said he was out of practice asking a woman on a buggy ride, and—most interestingly of all—that his shaggy beard hid a burn scar along the left side of his neck. “I’m not sure how far up it goes, and I didn’t dare ask him about it because he went stiff as soon as he noticed that I noticed and . . . oh. Listen to me ramble. I’m just so happy to have you here.”

  Carline refolded her letter and tucked it inside her bodice. “Good, because I have an enormous favor to ask of you.”

  “Anything.”

  “Would you ask your parents if I could stay here instead of going back . . . home?” She choked on the last word. “Uncle Eugene made me promise that, if he brought me back to Helena, we would find a new house to live in. I told him we would, but before we can sell the house, I need to decide what can be donated to charity and what I want to keep for sentimental reasons.”