by Regina Scott
He didn’t like it. Beth could see that. His dark brows drew down. That chin was growing firmer by the minute. But he wouldn’t argue with her. He wanted to stop these villains too much.
He put a hand on Beth’s elbow. “Doc said you should rest. We can talk about this later.”
Beth allowed him to steer her around the corner for Second. “I don’t need to rest. But I’ll go back to the Howards’ to change. I’m a sight.”
“Pretty as a pig in mud,” he assured her.
Beth giggled. “I see we still have to work on compliments. Read that book I left you. It should help.”
“I’ll consider it.”
Had anyone ever sounded more doubtful?
“Oh, come now,” Beth said. “It’s as good as your dime novels. I promise.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
But no one else’s. His gaze moved from person to person along the street. His scowl said he suspected each of them of some foul crime. The way he hustled her along, they probably thought she was a criminal.
But she couldn’t forget the way he’d held her a few moments ago, as if she were precious, so very dear to him. She’d once dreamed of him holding her like that. His strong hands had caressed her hair almost reverently.
He’d just been helping. Like her brothers, he didn’t seem to think she could manage on her own.
“I don’t see why I can’t tell you as we walk,” she said as they reached the end of the block and started up the hill toward the residences.
His grunt was the most encouragement she was going to get.
“As you know, two men were involved,” Beth said, determined to share. “I’m convinced the fellow who took my bag was one of them. He certainly matched one of the descriptions. I got a good look at him when he grabbed my bag. Tall, whip thin, with short dark-blond hair. Deep, sunken brown eyes. Mole on his right cheek. Inferior wool coat of an unflattering cut.”
“Schneider never said that last part.”
Beth grinned at his skepticism. “No. It is my own observation. He was surprisingly clean, though. I would think villains wouldn’t want to spend time or funding on laundry and bathing.”
He rubbed his chin, and she tried not to think about how that hand had felt in her hair. “Interesting. Schneider bled. One of them might have caught a few drops on his clothes in the process.”
“And blood is terribly hard to remove,” Beth told him, lifting her sodden skirts out of a mud puddle. “One of the laundresses in town might remember the stains. I’ll ask around.”
He dropped his hand. “I’ll ask around. That’s my job, remember?”
He was right. There was no reason he couldn’t handle this. “Sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes, the other one. He was short and stout, with a receding hairline, oily brown hair and bloodshot eyes. I certainly don’t recall meeting anyone who met that description. Do you?”
“No, but I’ll keep an eye out for the pair,” Hart said as they neared the Howard house. “Now, promise me your investigating is done.”
Beth dropped her skirts. “Oh, I can’t promise that. You never know what might need to be investigated—a woman who shows excessive interest in Scout, a lady who shows undue interest in you.”
He stopped her at the foot of the steps leading up to the front porch. “I thought you wanted me to marry.”
At the moment, her resolve was sorely tested, but she refused to admit that to him. She wasn’t about to go through that rejection again. “Only to the right woman,” she told him. “I just wonder when our plan will bear fruit.”
“Your plan,” he corrected her. “And it’s already bearing fruit. Dried apples, to be exact. I found pies from two different women waiting for me at the office this morning.”
Beth’s smile deepened. “Did you now?”
He didn’t look the least pleased. He’d widened his stance, and the handle of his revolver stuck out as if in defiance. “Invitations too. Seems several mamas of eligible young misses want me over for dinner. Showing civic pride to support the law, they said.”
At last! The women of Seattle had finally recognized him for the gentleman he was. She couldn’t help a sense of pride herself, followed by a decided lowering of her spirits.
“How nice,” she made herself say. “And which have you decided to accept?”
“None.” He bent to meet her gaze. “I have work to do.”
A shiver of pleasure ran through her. Silly! She wasn’t his work. He was hers.
“That will never do. One of them must interest you.”
He straightened. “Not a one. I already looked up their menfolk and told them as much.”
“Oh, Hart, you didn’t!”
He seemed almost pleased about it, as if he hadn’t just committed the social blunder of the year. “I did. All except the Widow Dunbar. I’ll have to speak to her directly.”
So Mrs. Dunbar was regretting her hasty decision. Too late. Beth had already decided the lady wasn’t the bride for Hart. “I’ll speak to her if you’d like.”
He shook his head. “No matchmaking, Beth. I won’t have her.”
Curiosity got the better of her. “Why? She’s pretty and bright.”
“And bossy and opinionated. That’s not what I want in a wife.”
The words stung. “I see. I thought you wanted a woman with spirit.”
He bent his head again. “I want a wife who’ll stand on her own two feet, not walk all over mine.”
“Oh.” She shifted, afraid of what her face might reveal. “Well, I can certainly appreciate that. I’d like the same sort of husband, if I was interested in marriage.”
He snorted. “You’re a matchmaker. Of course you’re interested in marriage.”
She decided not to argue. The discussion could go down too many paths she no longer wanted to walk. “It’s settled then. I’ll tell Mrs. Dunbar you’re not interested, and you’ll accept the next invitation you receive.”
He stepped back. “I never agreed to that.”
“Oh. Well, in that case, I’ll tell her you can’t wait to dine with her.”
“Beth Wallin...”
“That growl may frighten the criminals you chase, but it won’t work on me. I have too many brothers. Do we have an agreement?”
“I ought to lock you up for safekeeping.”
Beth pressed a hand to her chest. “Me? Sweet little Beth Wallin? The entire city of Seattle would be in shock.”
“And your Literary Society friends would march around the office until I let you out.”
“If my brothers didn’t batter down the door first.”
“I’d rather take my chances with your brothers.”
Beth giggled. “Clever fellow. Hatpins can be deadly, you know. Oh, come now, Hart—one invitation. Is it really so much to ask?”
He cocked his head. “I’ll make you a deal. I accept the next invitation, you fend off Mrs. Dunbar and you stay away from my investigation of the gang.”
“That’s two for one,” Beth protested.
“Take it or leave it.”
If she didn’t take it, he might never give a lady a chance. Worse, Mrs. Dunbar might set her cap at him. That might frighten off other contenders.
“Done,” she said, sticking out her hand.
He took it, hand dwarfing hers, and gave it a shake. “And remember this: If you go back on your word, I will lock you up, despite the Literary Society and your brothers.”
Chapter Twelve
Stubborn, opinionated woman! Hart strode down the hill, away from the Howard house and a certain lady who was severely cutting up his peace. Why had she questioned Schneider? Didn’t she realize she could make herself a target? Men who preyed on other men didn’t often scruple about harming women as well. She could have been killed.
Stars exploded on the periphery of his vision. He made himself stop, take a deep breath. The fear of loss overwhelmed him. He could see Annabelle’s face, the color waning as the light from her blue eyes faded, until
he held only a husk. She’d been all of eighteen, a dreamer like Beth, seeing only the good in the world. He’d run away again, from the gang this time, sick at heart over what he’d become. He’d snuck into her father’s barn, intent on getting a good night’s sleep before he left the area. She’d discovered him when she’d come to do the milking.
One look in those sky-blue eyes, and he’d realized he still had some good in him because all he wanted to do was prove himself to her.
“Don’t be afraid,” he’d said, taking the buckets from her unresisting grip. “I would never hurt you.”
And yet, knowing him had led to her death. She’d been everything he could have asked—sweet, kind, generous, loyal to the very end. She’d convinced her father to hire him as a farm hand, made sure he got more than his fair share of vittles from the cook. She’d taken him to church, introduced him for the first time to a God who could love someone like him. Maybe that was why he hadn’t railed at God for taking her.
Besides, he knew Jake Cathcart had pulled the trigger, getting his revenge on Hart for alerting the local lawmen to the gang’s whereabouts. God didn’t enter into an outlaw’s thoughts very often.
He was just starting to enter into Hart’s thoughts again.
But will the pattern be any different this time, Lord? I couldn’t protect Annabelle then. How can I protect Beth now? How can I keep her family from feeling that searing pain of loss?
How can I keep from feeling that pain again?
Something slid over him, warm as a coat on a cold night. Certainty? Assurance? His shoulders came down, breath came easier. All he knew was that he had work to do. With a nod, he started down the hill once more. Beth had given him a lead on the gang. He’d be mad not to take it. And by catching them, he kept her and the other citizens of Seattle safe. That was where he needed to focus.
Over the next two days, he stayed in town. He had a local draftsman make charcoal sketches based on Schneider’s descriptions, nailed up wanted posters all over town, and showed them to the owners of the various businesses. Unfortunately, no one claimed any knowledge. He didn’t think it was fear clogging their memories. Everyone knew everyone in Seattle. That the gang members were unknown meant they were new to the area, like the people they robbed. Still, they had to eat, had to sleep. Someone must have seen them. He kept looking.
A handful of ladies and gentlemen took in laundry for a price. Hart also checked with them, holding his breath each time, expecting them to say Beth had been there before him. She seemed to be keeping her word, however, for none reported he was the second to ask them about cleaning blood off clothing. He tracked the two instances to their source and found only mill workers who had gotten into a scuffle over a game of cards. It seemed every hint led him nowhere.
When he wasn’t investigating or patrolling, he did his best to lay low. It made him a less obvious target for Beth. Besides, he’d promised her he’d accept the next invitation he was given. If he didn’t open the notes left for him at the office or allow himself to be close enough to any lady while he was out, he wouldn’t be invited. It was as simple as that.
With Beth, he was coming to learn, nothing was that simple.
“There you are,” she proclaimed as he came out of the cabin on Thursday. “I need your help in a noble cause.”
His face must have betrayed his suspicions, for she trilled a laugh. “Nothing onerous, I promise. Mary Ann Denny is hosting a gathering in her garden about a civic matter, and she requested that each of us bring a gentleman along.”
So Beth wanted an escort. Hart sighed. “I’m not the tea and cookies sort.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “Who would ever refuse cookies? Come on, Hart. You never know. Maybe she’s plotting sedition. I’m sure Sheriff Wyckoff would want you to be sure.”
Somehow he doubted Mrs. Denny was up to anything illegal, but most likely the sheriff would encourage him to attend. His superior kept on eye on local politics. The Dennys’ influence in the city was well established.
“I’ll stay a few minutes,” he told her. “Then I need to get to work.”
“Of course.” She linked arms with him as they started the short distance to the Denny house. “So, whose invitation have you decided to accept?”
“No one’s,” he told her. “I haven’t received any.”
“What! Well, I’ll have to speak to Seattle’s ladies. They can do better. Which would you prefer—a dinner engagement or a walk through the woods?”
“Either could get me killed.”
She squeezed his arm. “Come now. The woods can be very picturesque, and our ladies don’t cook so badly as to endanger your health.”
“You haven’t tried the pies they left. Sheriff Wyckoff is using one as a doorstop.”
She laughed again. Funny how much he enjoyed that sound. It was bright, clean, filled with joy. He couldn’t help smiling along.
His smile faded when he heard Mrs. Denny announce the purpose of the meeting.
“Women’s suffrage?” he murmured to Beth as they stood with a dozen other people in the rear garden of the Denny’s home, surrounded by carefully tended flowers. The other women must not have been as persuasive, or as secretive, as Beth, for Hart was the only man besides Arthur Denny in attendance.
“Can you think of a nobler cause?” she murmured back. “The territorial legislature has voted it down twice, but by a narrow margin. Mary Ann feels now is the time to see it through.”
Indeed she did, for the dark-haired lady went on at great length about the rights of women and their place in history, her husband nodding his bushy-haired head dutifully beside her. By the time she was done, Beth’s eyes positively glowed with fervor.
“Very good to see you here, Mr. McCormick,” their hostess said as she made the rounds after her stirring speech. “I find it highly encouraging that our local lawman supports our cause.”
“Never really thought about it before,” Hart admitted. “But if idiots are allowed to vote, I don’t see why women should be denied.”
Mrs. Denny blinked, mouth hanging open, and he realized how that must have sounded to her.
“I meant no disrespect, ma’am,” he told her. “It’s just that I’ve watched over any number of elections. Some of our finest citizens exercise their right to vote. So do young men with no experience and little learning, old men who have forgotten much of what they knew. Then there are the crooked types hoping to vote in someone who will do their bidding for a price. It isn’t their gender that should make them eligible to vote. It’s their character, their loyalty to the country they love.”
Beth was staring at him now, and he had a sudden urge to bolt. Who was he to spout off? His character had once been black enough that he ought to have been banned from civic functions entirely.
“Nicely said, Deputy,” Mrs. Denny replied with a nod. “A shame more gentlemen don’t take the opportunity to consider such matters.” She cocked her head to look up at him. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to speak at our next meeting.”
Him? He glanced between her and Beth, who was so puffed up she might float off the ground like a balloon.
“Surely you have someone better,” he protested.
“I think it’s a marvelous idea,” Beth said, as if her beaming smile would have left any doubt. “We had Susan B. Anthony and Abigail Scott Duniway visit a few years ago. Their speeches were quite inspirational, but they look at things from a woman’s point of view. I think we’d highly benefit from hearing a gentleman’s perspective.”
He’d had to patrol the area around Sarah Yesler’s house when she’d hosted the controversial suffragettes. The territorial newspapers hadn’t been kind, and the sheriff had feared some citizens might show their displeasure through violence. Hart still didn’t understand why the men fussed. Anyone who had braved the wilderness knew that women did as much if not more than the men. Why shouldn’t they have a say in who ran things and which laws were passed?
“If you c
ould schedule the meeting on my day off, I’ll attempt to come,” he told Mrs. Denny. “Just know I’m not much for speaking.”
She smiled. “I agree with Miss Wallin, Deputy. We would be most interested in your thoughts. And I have been eager to hear about your progress in choosing a bride. Is a proposal imminent?” She glanced between Beth and Hart.
“I’m certain the ladies will be lining up when they hear how he supports suffrage,” Beth assured her.
“That wasn’t why I agreed to speak,” he told Beth as the meeting began to break up.
“I know,” Beth said, strolling along beside him as he walked her back to the Howards’. “But you have to admit it’s a happy consequence.”
Nothing happy about it. “You took me there under false pretenses,” he accused her. “You didn’t need my help. You were just trying to show me off again.”
Her skirts were swinging. “Not entirely. Mary Ann Denny did ask us to bring along gentlemen who would support the cause. It’s not my fault you were the only one in town brave enough to accept the ladies’ offer. Besides, if I can’t get you to buy a respectable house, the least I can do is involve you more in the community.”
He had no idea how the two related, but she glanced up at the blue sky and spread her arms. “Oh, isn’t it a glorious day?”
“You aren’t going to give up on this, are you?” Hart asked.
She lowered her arms. “About women’s suffrage? No. It’s too important. And so are you.” She shot him a grin. “Race you back.” Picking up her skirts, she pelted ahead.
Hart watched her a moment. The veil streamed behind her, her hair glinting in the sunlight.
How did anyone stay angry with her?
He darted after her.
“Winner!” she declared, coming to a halt in front of the porch steps.
“You had a head start,” he reminded her.
“Then I’ll agree to a rematch. Perhaps after dinner tonight, when your work is done?”
He supposed he could have counted that an invitation, but since Allegra had offered to let him dine with the Howards whenever he liked, he really couldn’t call it the “next” invitation he received. So he agreed.