“Mr. Hill said all the boardinghouses are full.”
“They are.” He opened the front door of the store, following her outside. “But Miss Nola might like to have you live at her house. She’s a widow and doesn’t get around as well as she used to. Jessie and the kids stayed with her a little while before she and Cade got married. Jessie worked as her housekeeper. She has someone else doing that job now, but Hester is only there during the day. I think Nola would like to have someone there at night.”
“I don’t know. I’ve lived by myself for a long time.”
“Nola’s easy to get along with.” She was also a woman who loved Jesus. He couldn’t think of a better place for Camille to stay. “Cade and I went to work for her husband on their ranch when we first came west. She used to be a schoolteacher, so she talked him into letting her teach us a couple of days a week. I owe her a lot. Besides the usual schoolwork, she instructed us in manners and behaving like gentlemen.”
“She taught you well.”
“She thinks so,” he said with a laugh. “If you want, I can stop by her place later and see if she’s interested.”
“It would be good to know before I call on her tomorrow. I don’t want her to think I’m being pushy.”
“She wouldn’t think that. There would be another advantage to you moving in with her.”
“What?”
“You’d have a ready-made chaperone.”
Camille stopped, bringing him to an abrupt halt, too, as she searched his face. “Do I need a chaperone?”
“In this small a town—yes. Probably would even in a city.”
“I understand the social requirement. But why do I need one?”
Her expression was leery, but he saw longing in her eyes. The same longing he felt in his heart. He figured Amanda was sitting up in heaven smiling in approval. “Because, Miss Dupree, I would like very much to come calling.”
Chapter Ten
That night, Camille sat at the small table in her room and shuffled a deck of cards. Piano music from a saloon a few buildings down from the hotel drifted on the breeze through the open window. If she had not met Ty McKinnon, she would be sitting across the street in the White Buffalo, dealing a poker hand instead of solitaire. She laid the cards out one by one, playing the game more by habit than concentration.
The day had been enjoyable for the most part, except for the confrontation with Cline. Persuading those tight-fisted shopkeepers to pay up had brought her more satisfaction than a hundred-dollar night at the card table. She should have been focusing on the newspaper and ways to improve it, but her thoughts lingered on Ty.
And that kiss. It had been six years since she’d let a man kiss her, but she didn’t think she had ever experienced anything quite like it. Thoughts of the past and the future had vanished in the sheer pleasure of the moment. There had been desire in his touch, but tenderness and respect had overshadowed it.
He wanted her to live with Mrs. Simpson so he could come calling in a proper way.
He just wants to protect his reputation, she thought. Any politician worth his salt avoids a scandal, especially close to an election. She laid a nine of spades down on a ten of hearts. But he had taken her to the social even when he knew she might work at Nate’s.
“So he wants to protect my reputation, too,” she whispered, “now that people think I have a good one.”
She had known men who went to church on Sunday morning after spending half the night in the saloon, drinking and playing cards. Some had offered her a small fortune to play other games. She supposed it could be counted to her credit that she had always refused.
Ty wasn’t like them. He was an honest, decent man. A noble man who took his faith to heart and tried to live the way the scriptures told him to.
She had never read the Good Book, not one word. She remembered looking at the family Bible when she was a young child and tracing her fingers over the scrolling letters. By the time she could read, the Bible, like their home, was a pile of ashes.
“Nothing can undo those months I lived with Anthony,” she said out loud, throwing down the cards and feeling sick at heart. “Nothing can make me good enough for him.” No matter how much she wished for it.
Blowing out the lamp, she walked over to the window, pushing aside the curtain in the darkened room. The cool air felt good. She stood in the shadows to avoid giving anyone a glimpse of her in a nightgown and wrapper.
It was almost nine, but the saloons in the main part of town wouldn’t close until two. Those down in the district stayed open twenty-four hours a day. A drunken cowboy, singing off-key to imaginary cattle, staggered down the sidewalk. There weren’t as many people in town as on the weekend, but the saloons and some of the stores still had customers.
The lamps burned in McKinnon’s across the street. She saw two men inside the store approach the front door, followed a minute later by Ty. He joined them for a brief conversation. They shook hands and the other men left as Ty held the door open for them. He paused, surveying the street, then looked up toward the second floor of the hotel—right toward her window. He was too far away for her to read his expression, but the fact that he looked in her direction made her heart skip a beat.
He turned and walked back inside. One by one the lights went out, until there was only a soft glow from the back of the store. In a few minutes, it, too, disappeared. She waited until he came back out. He locked the front door and turned down the lantern hanging beside it, blowing out the last flicker of light.
He walked past the White Buffalo, glancing inside, but not slowing his pace. As he crossed the alley, she lost sight of him for a few minutes in the shadows of the next block, then spotted him again as he walked through the light shining from the windows of another saloon. At the end of that block, he turned the corner, disappearing from sight.
He hadn’t looked up at her window again.
Camille wondered why she felt both relieved and disappointed. Shaking her head, she took off her wrapper, climbed into bed and wound up tossing and turning for hours.
It’s just because I haven’t gone to bed before three in the morning for years. It has nothing to do with Ty.
“And it snows in Texas in July,” she murmured on a tired yawn.
The next afternoon Camille sat in Mrs. Simpson’s parlor, chatting sociably and drinking tea as if it were an everyday occurrence. She had double-checked with Mr. Hill, confirming that there wasn’t any other place in town for her to stay.
“How my husband loved working with cattle,” said Mrs. Simpson with a nostalgic smile. “Even after we had a place of our own, he always called himself a cowboy, not a rancher. Said it sounded too self-important. Of course, I never agreed with him. I liked the sound of it.” She laughed and set her empty cup on the table by her red velvet chair. “But enough about my man, let’s talk about yours.”
“I don’t have one.” Camille took her last sip, hoping she didn’t choke on it.
“Not officially I suppose. But I think Ty would like to be.”
“You’re making too much of his kindness.”
Her hostess smiled, her eyes sparkling in delight. “Kindness didn’t pay three hundred dollars to have supper with you Saturday night.”
“He was raising money for the school.” Camille resisted the urge to shift in her chair, her mother’s voice whispering in her mind. Angelique, sit still. Squirming is not ladylike.
“From what I hear, he didn’t give a hoot and a holler about how much he raised for the school. He usually spends about fifty dollars, and that’s considered generous. Ty didn’t want anybody else keeping company with you and that’s a fact.”
“I don’t suppose it would do any good to argue that point.”
“Not a bit.” Mrs. Simpson’s expression softened. “I love Ty and Cade like they were my own sons. It’s been heartbreaking to watch Ty since Amanda died. There for a while, I was afraid he’d work himself into the ground, too. I can’t tell you how good it is to see
him interested in someone again.”
“He loves his wife very much.”
Mrs. Simpson’s eyes narrowed. “Not loved?”
“No, ma’am. He still loves her. I’m sure he always will. As he should.”
“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean he can’t love someone else, too.”
Camille laughed, trying to lighten the conversation. “He’s only taken me out to eat a couple of times.”
“Which is two more times than he’s taken anyone else out. And he suggested you stay here with me.”
“Because I want to move out of the hotel, and there is no room at any of the boardinghouses.”
The older lady shrugged. “That’s part of it. But he also knows I won’t toss him on his ear when he comes courtin’. Won’t watch you like a hawk, either.”
Camille felt her face grow warm. “He did say something about coming by.”
“That scalawag. He already comes to dinner about once a week anyway.” Mrs. Simpson laughed as her housekeeper took away the tea tray. “I expect we’ll see him more often now.”
Hester joined in the laughter, glancing at Camille. “Yes, ma’am. No doubt we will. And he won’t be sitting in the parlor shooting the breeze with you. He’ll put that porch swing to good use.”
“About time somebody did.” Mrs. Simpson practically wiggled with merriment. “It’s been sitting idle pert’ near every evening since Cade and Jessie married.”
Camille had noted the white wooden swing when she arrived. It was tucked into one corner of the porch, perfect for watching sunsets or waiting expectantly for a beau.
“What you’re asking for room and board is more than reasonable. I’d like to add some for Hester since I’ll be causing more work for her.”
“That’s fair.” Mrs. Simpson nodded her approval and glanced toward the kitchen. “She’ll appreciate it. When can you move in?”
“Would tomorrow be too soon?”
“Not at all. That’s Ty’s regular night to come to dinner anyway.”
“No wonder he made sure I was still coming to see you when he stopped by the newspaper this morning. I’ll have my things sent over from the hotel tomorrow.” She stood, picking up her purse. “I should be getting back to the office. Mr. Hill is going to try to teach me about advertising.”
Mrs. Simpson picked up the cane propped against her chair and stood also. “It should be interesting work. You’re fortunate to be able to do something other than the typical women’s jobs.”
I’ve never had a typical woman’s job, thought Camille. She supposed she should thank her father for that. “I wouldn’t be any good at teaching, and I can’t sew a straight seam. I’m not a very good cook, either.”
“Never you mind, dear. That’s why I have Hester. When she’s not here, I’m still able to cook fine.” Mrs. Simpson accompanied her to the door, the cane tapping on the wooden floor. “I’ll enjoy your company.” She smiled slyly. “And Ty’s when he comes around.”
“If he—we become a bother, please tell me,” said Camille.
“A bother? Land sakes, child, I can hardly wait for the fun. It’s been boring around here since Jessie left.”
Camille wasn’t sure she wanted to provide the old lady with entertainment. She opened the door and pushed open the screen door. Stepping out onto the porch, she looked around. It was a nice home, with gingerbread trim, a honeysuckle vine trailing along the white picket fence, and a shady, inviting porch that wrapped around the house. It was bigger than the one she had rented in San Antonio, and in a much better neighborhood.
She turned back to Mrs. Simpson. “I’ll see you tomorrow, probably in the afternoon.”
“Anytime is fine with us. Tell Mr. Hill that y’all could do with some social news in that paper of yours. Keep us up to date on who’s visiting and what’s going on in the town.”
“But if we printed all that in the paper, what would folks have to talk about?” teased Camille.
“All the things you can’t put in print—such as what lady has caught the mayor’s eye.”
Camille listened intently as Mr. Hill explained the various types of ads, showing her examples. Pointing to one for the railroad listing schedules and potential destinations in very fine print, she asked, “Do you ever have complaints because the print is so small?” She practically had to squint to make out some of the words, and she had excellent vision.
“Used to, until folks figured out it wasn’t going to change. That’s the way the Texas & Pacific sends it. I tried to convince them to increase it to two columns and enlarge the type, but they refused. Guess they figure since they’re the only railroad in these parts folks will find somebody who can read it for them.” He picked up another page for that week’s paper and laid it on the work table. “A lot of businesses want to put in plenty of information, but don’t want to pay for a larger ad.”
“So they miss all the customers who can’t read it.”
“Ty tells me he does a good business in magnifying glasses.”
Camille laughed, studying the page, particularly the large advertisement for McKinnon’s. It was easy to read due to the variations in size and style of type and plenty of white space.
“The mayor not only knows how to run our town, he knows his business,” said Mr. Hill. “Though I suppose that’s obvious by his success. He pretty much laid this one out by himself, including the size of the type. The only changes we made were the style differences.”
Camille silently read it, admiring Ty’s ability to get his message across in a concise, orderly manner. Each line was centered in the two column width.
MCKINNON BROTHERS
WILLOW GROVE, TEXAS.
Receiving and Forwarding Merchants.
Cattle Drovers and Contractors.
—DEALERS IN—
GENERAL MERCHANDISE.
HAVE THE LARGEST STOCK OF
DRY GOODS AND GROCERIES
ON THE FRONTIER.
Ready Made Clothing.
BOOTS, SHOES, HATS, CAPS.
CANNED GOODS, HARDWARE,
GLASSWARE, CROCKERY, WOOD
AND WILLOWARE, ETC.
At Lowest Living Prices
ARMS, AMMUNITIONS, ETC.
Always kept in stock.
Wool, Hides and Cattle will be taken at Market Prices.
An examination of our goods and prices is earnestly solicited.
MCKINNON BROTHERS
“It is impressive. Is this the one he runs every week?”
“Yes, it’s his standard ad.”
“We’ll have to see if we can persuade him to change it.”
“We?” Mr. Hill gave her a skeptical look. “You, maybe. What do you have in mind?”
“Include things that are on sale. That’s what I harped on to the other customers. Mr. McKinnon shouldn’t be treated any differently.”
“Whatever you say,” Mr. Hill murmured dryly.
She felt her cheeks grow warm and quickly turned her attention to the ad next to Ty’s. “This one is different.” It was one column in width and four inches long, but the words were printed so that you had to turn the paper sideways to read it. It, too, was for a general merchandise store. “Is this effective?”
“What do you think?”
“The novelty of it attracts attention. But it doesn’t say very much. Only that they have a well-selected stock of goods that they propose to sell cheaply.” Camille thought about it, trying to imagine how it would affect the reader. She looked at Mr. Hill. “Some people would go there at least once to see what he has to offer, especially if they’re frugal.”
“So it works to bring in customers.”
“Yes. But it won’t lure some people away from McKinnon’s. Not the ones who are more interested in the prestige of shopping at the largest store in town.”
“Not to mention the one owned by the mayor. He’s very well thought of.”
“So I’ve discovered.” She hoped things stayed that way.
Chapte
r Eleven
On Tuesday evening, Ty called the city council meeting to order. “It’s good to see we have enough aldermen here to get started on time.”
“Yeah, Nichols. Where were you the last meeting?” Tom Carmichael was clearly teasing his friend.
“Out of town. You know that. I mentioned it the previous week.”
“I think you should fine him, Mayor,” said Carmichael with a big grin.
“The fines are for being late. Not for missing a meeting. Not yet anyway. Though if y’all start skipping too many, we may need to reconsider it. Now, let’s get down to business. Cade says the county commissioner’s court has finalized the purchase of the Woodard Block for the courthouse.”
“It’s about time.” Jim Talbot, the city clerk, readied his pen. “Did you ask him about giving us a couple of lots for a city hall and new calaboose?”
“Yes. He said he’d take it up with the commissioners at their next meeting. He figures they’ll go along with it.”
“We need to do something about the Tripoli.” Roger Smith leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. He owned a furniture store next door to the saloon that had turned into a variety theater unexpectedly. “I’ve gotten five complaints since Mulhany brought that theatrical troupe in on Saturday. The music’s too loud and the theatrics too bawdy. Yesterday, they were acting out scenes on the sidewalk. Things that would make a decent woman blush. Once in the afternoon and once earlier in the evening. The sheriff sent them back inside, but it didn’t help the noise much.”
“I’ve had some complaints, too.” Ty had gone by the Tripoli earlier in the day to speak to the owner, but he hadn’t been there. Ty had spotted an actress lounging in the corner. If her attire was typical of what she wore during the performances, she could have been thrown in jail for indecent exposure. “It isn’t the type of thing we want going on downtown.”
“Miller will be all over this if we don’t take care of it quick.” Frank Nichols spun his pencil around on the table. “All of our opponents will be, too.”
“We can’t just tell Mulhany to quit,” said Smith. “It wouldn’t do any good. But we could pass a special ordinance about disturbing the peace with a theatrical or musical performance.”
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