Maybe he’d head into town tomorrow. The robbery had kept him from conducting any of his errands. Setting up an account with the bank could wait, but not the purchase of some staples, the most important being more coffee. He expected he’d soon receive a visit from Steve’s uncle. Hospitality required that he offer his guest something to drink. Besides, he wanted to convince the man to let him stay on his land. He liked it here. It was nothing like the life he’d led in Chicago. Much to his surprise, that had a strong appeal to him. Being away from the city and his life-consuming work had forced him to confront himself, to see who he really was. Much to his surprise, he had no idea.
He knew he’d been adopted at five after his parents died from a mysterious fever. He knew he had two younger brothers. He’d been taken in by a man who traveled the Santa Fe Trail before concentrating his business in Chicago. As far back as Logan could remember, he’d worked alongside his father. Being without children of his own, Samuel Lowe had treated Logan as his own son, had given him his own name. In turn, the boy had bonded with his father so firmly his only interests had been his father’s interests.
Now every part of the only life he’d known had been left behind. His slate had been wiped clean, and his image had disappeared from the mirror. In its place was a man he didn’t know. Instead of a three-piece black wool suit, stiff cotton shirt, and ascot, he wore faded denim pants and a plaid shirt. His topcoat was now a rain slick. His bowler hat had been replaced by a wide-brimmed hat with a flat crown, his square-toed shoes by boots. His house with its fifteen rooms and servants had been exchanged for a tent and sleeping bag, his carriage for a single horse. His kitchen was a coffeepot, two pans, and a Dutch oven.
The price for all this freedom had been the loss of who he was. It hadn’t taken Logan long to realize he didn’t regret it. It had been a surprise at first, but he’d been so consumed with the problem of getting as far as possible from Chicago as quickly as possible that he hadn’t had time to do more than face the inevitability of his death. Once he had done that, what he’d left behind didn’t matter any longer. He intended his death to be private and to take place in beautiful, peaceful surroundings. There were few better places for that than the Verde River Valley.
He hadn’t intended to develop an interest in anyone, but already that was a danger. He’d been intrigued by the woman at the bank. There was something about her that wouldn’t allow him to forget her.
Then there was Steve. Maybe it was what Steve stood for rather than the boy himself, but he could see himself in the boy’s shoes, proud in the saddle, on the cusp of manhood, his whole future before him. In a way he represented the family Logan had never had. Bridgette had never spoken of wanting children, and he’d been too busy to give it any thought.
It was time to stop thinking about what might have been. He didn’t know how he was going to fill his remaining days, but he couldn’t spend them dwelling on the past or a future he wouldn’t have. The present was all he had. He had to find a way to make the best use of it. He’d been feeling better today. He’d ride into town in a day or two. He didn’t have many good days. He didn’t want to waste them.
“Keep on the lookout for squirrels while I’m gone,” Logan told the dog. “I never knew how much I disliked the damned little critters.”
* * *
Sibyl sat on the front pew, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Kitty sat next to her, her body rigid, her eyes staring straight ahead. Sibyl wished she could have spared her daughter, but there were certain rituals in small towns that couldn’t be avoided and which required slavish adherence to the rules. Funerals ranked near the top of the list. Only immediate family was allowed to sit in the front pew. They must all wear black.
Sibyl wore a black dress, hat, and veil, but Kitty wore her navy blue Sunday best. If that wasn’t good enough, it was too bad.
The clapboard church was small with bare walls. The wooden pews had straight backs that made sitting in them uncomfortable. They kept the parishioners awake and eager for the end of the service. All the windows along the side of the church were of plain glass, but the two behind the altar were stained glass scenes of Christ’s birth and crucifixion. Norman and his brother had given them in memory of their parents. Sibyl and her cousins had paid for the piano that made the singing bearable.
Sibyl had asked for an open casket. She and Kitty had stood next to it as what must have been every person in Cactus Corner above the age of twelve—and quite a few younger—came to offer condolences. That was fine. What she found difficult to bear was the extravagant praise being offered from the pulpit by Reverend Simpson. To hear him talk, you would have believed that Norman had been kindhearted, generous, fair, loving…it was useless to go on. He’d been none of those, and everyone in town knew it. She thought it a sacrilege to mouth such untruths about a man just because he was dead. It had to be even more difficult for Kitty to hear a man who’d treated her so brutally praised so lavishly. She unclenched her fists, took her daughter’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. Kitty didn’t look up, but she could feel her daughter’s tension ease.
After what seemed like an eternity, Reverend Simpson brought the service to a close. The pallbearers came forward—Jared, Horace, and her cousins Ethan and Ben—to carry the casket in the procession to the cemetery. Sibyl and Kitty followed close behind. Her cousins Naomi and Laurie came to walk on either side of them.
Laurie whispered, “It’ll soon be over.”
Laurie understood better than anyone else. She’d been married to Noah, Norman’s brother. There hadn’t been much to choose between the two men.
Sibyl would have been content with ashes to ashes, dust to dust, but the reverend hadn’t exhausted his bag of fulsome praise. By the time he finished the graveside service and invited the mourners back to Sibyl’s house for a collation and a chance to express their sorrow in person, she was squeezing Naomi’s hand so hard it had to hurt. But the formal part of burying Norman was almost over. Sibyl promised herself that once the last person left her house tonight, she’d never again pretend that Norman had been anything but the bastard he was.
* * *
Logan hadn’t intended to attend Norman Spencer’s funeral service, but the town had closed down for the occasion and he found himself swept along by the townspeople despite any protest he might offer. He couldn’t do any of the things he’d come into town to do until the reception at Mrs. Spencer’s house was over and people returned to their jobs. He didn’t really mind the delay. He was impressed that apparently everyone thought so highly of the banker. If only half of what the minister said was true, Norman Spencer must have been an outstanding man. His death would be a great loss to the community.
His widow’s behavior appeared to support that view. She looked to be in such deep shock she was unable to show any emotion. Their daughter appeared to be in such distress she clung to her mother and the woman who walked on her other side. Coming from Chicago where he knew hundreds of people, Logan found it awkward being in a small town where his only speaking acquaintance was a teenage boy. He drifted toward Steve when the graveside service ended.
“I had expected to see your uncle before now.”
Steve recognized him immediately, but no one else did. He’d escaped through the back door before anyone else saw him. “You would have if Aunt Sibyl’s husband hadn’t been killed. Laurie’s been staying with her, which means we’ve been looking after ourselves and eating leftovers.”
“Who’s Laurie?”
“She’s my uncle’s wife and Sibyl’s cousin. She’s the blond woman holding Kitty’s hand. The other woman is Naomi. She’s also Sibyl’s cousin. Colby is her husband.”
Logan didn’t attempt to keep all the names and relationships straight. It was a small town. It was inevitable that many people would be kin. “I’m glad she has a lot of family to support her. It’s tragic to lose a husband, especially one as o
utstanding as Mr. Spencer.”
Steve cussed. “I don’t know why the preacher had to carry on like he did. Norman was a bastard and just about everybody disliked him. He was the richest man in town, and he never let anyone forget it. People had to beg for loans. Then he’d stick his nose in their business until they paid him back. It got so bad people got together and opened a new bank. Norman got a lot nicer after that, but nobody forgot what he used to be like. I couldn’t stand him. He was hateful to Sibyl.”
Logan doubted he’d ever seen three more beautiful women in one place, but Sibyl had the kind of classic beauty that could start a man to having embarrassing fantasies. He couldn’t imagine any man being hateful to her.
“Sibyl was forced to marry Norman,” Steve explained. “She didn’t like him one bit. You can ask anybody. I don’t know what got into the preacher. I’m going to ask Martha if her father’s been sampling his communion wine.”
Logan lost interest in the lengthening catalog of names without faces. “Taking over the running of the bank is going to be a difficult undertaking for Mrs. Spencer,” Logan said. “I hope some of those men you mentioned can help her.”
“Norman never let her go near the bank so she has no idea what to do,” Steve told him. “He didn’t like Colby or Jared, either.”
Small towns were worse than big ones for people letting their family conflicts spill over into their business relationships—and big towns were bad enough. Logan had witnessed such a clash between his father and his uncle firsthand. So Mrs. Spencer would be on her own. Surely there was someone in Cactus Corner who knew something about banking or business, at least enough to help her until she got on her feet.
“Are you going to the reception?” Steve asked.
“No. I only went to the funeral because everything in town is closed, and people seemed set on everyone being there.”
“You ought to come. You could meet my uncle.”
“I’d feel too uncomfortable not knowing anyone.” Nor did he look forward to the curious and pitying looks he was sure to receive.
Steve laughed. “My uncle didn’t know Laurie when he went to her husband’s funeral, but they ended up getting married. Now I’ve got a little cousin with another just arrived.”
That certainly wouldn’t happen to Logan. He didn’t intend to strike up any friendships. He was wary of even casual acquaintances, excepting Steve. “I think I’ll look around town for a bit. I may wait for stores to open or come back another time.”
“If you want, you can come by the ranch to see my uncle,” Steve said. “We’re babysitting while Laurie stays with Sibyl. That means I have to run all the errands while Jared stays home.”
There was that name again. Logan wouldn’t get his hopes up, but it was something he was going to have to check into sooner or later.
One of his reasons for leaving Chicago had been to find his brothers, but they were grown men with lives of their own that had no place for him. It was probable that the money he could leave them could make a difference, but he didn’t have to do it in person. He could leave money in his will. That way they could benefit without having to watch him die.
Even if he hadn’t been looking for his brothers, he was glad he’d left Chicago. He hadn’t realized his work was taking so much there was virtually nothing left for himself. Now whatever was left was his. He no longer had to plan. He no longer had to worry about the consequences of what he did. For the first time in his life, he was completely free.
* * *
“Are you sure you don’t need me to stay with you tonight?” Laurie asked Sibyl. “Jared and Steve won’t mind. They fight over who gets to take care of the baby.”
Sibyl moved through the two parlors plumping pillows, straightening doilies, and repositioning chairs. She would have to decide tomorrow what furniture to move to make room for the reception. She might remove some of it permanently. She’d never liked it because it reminded her too much of Norman’s mother, who had crocheted every doily in the room.
“Go back to your family. If I need anything, there are a dozen people close by itching to bring food, provide comfort, and try to find out what I plan to do with the bank.”
“Forget about the bank. You’re free. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You don’t have to follow his orders or swallow your pride because you don’t want people to know your husband treats you like an unpaid servant. You don’t have to wonder if he can tell what you’re thinking.”
Sibyl didn’t pretend she didn’t know what Laurie meant. “After seven years, it’s going to take some getting used to. I never wished Norman dead. I know you find that hard to believe, but I didn’t. I just wished I could find some way to be free of him. I even considered stealing enough money to run away.” She laughed. “That just shows how desperate I had become. I thought we’d worked out ways to put up with each other until he took it in his head to send Kitty away to school.”
Laurie’s expression registered shock and anger. “The child is only six. What was he planning to do? Send her to a convent?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t talk about it at home, so I had gone to the bank to confront him when the robbers entered. You should have seen him. He acted insulted, like he could just order them out and they’d go.” Her mouth twisted. “Sometimes I wondered if he was really sane. His mother gave him a completely unrealistic view of the world.” Sibyl sighed. “I never liked her. She was a stiff, proud woman. After being compared unfavorably to her for seven years, I started to hate her.”
“I know how you feel. Noah did the same to me. Now if you really don’t need me, I think I will go home. I miss having my husband’s arms around me at night.”
“I’m glad Jared is such a wonderful husband. It’s your reward for putting up with Noah.”
“You should start looking around for a man you can love, one who could be a real father to Kitty.” Laurie took Sibyl’s hands in hers. “He’ll have to be a real prince charming to make up for the man you loved disappearing, and those years with Norman.”
Sibyl felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She hoped Laurie believed her reaction was due to Norman’s death, not the horrific night that still haunted her dreams. “I’m not interested in men or marriage. As you pointed out, I have enough money to support Kitty and myself. I don’t have to subject myself to a man ever again.”
“That’s how I felt when I met Jared. It didn’t take long for me to change my mind.”
“There aren’t any more men like Jared and Colby.”
“They have a brother.”
“The chances of him showing up here are about one in a bigger number than I can imagine. Even if he did, there’s no assurance he’d be anything like his brothers.”
“Wouldn’t that be something? Three cousins marrying three brothers.”
“Go home, Laurie. You’ve been out in the sun too long.”
Laurie grinned. “I know it’s a silly idea, but it got your mind off dreary thoughts. Naomi will check on you tomorrow, but if you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Sibyl sighed with relief when she closed the door behind Laurie. She loved her cousins, was thankful for the support of other relatives, but she needed quiet and to be alone. Her life had taken a dramatic turn, one she was unprepared for regardless of the years she’d spent dreaming about it. This wasn’t about the bank or even about Kitty. It was about herself. She was twenty-three years old, yet she’d never lived by herself or been allowed to make her own decisions. No one had asked her opinion or encouraged her to have one. She’d spent years trying not to think, not to have opinions or ideas because it made life easier. Every time she’d become so frustrated and angry she was tempted to rebel, she thought of the effect it would have on Kitty and swallowed her resentment.
That had changed when Norman decided to send Kitty away to school. She had been prepared to
fight for her daughter’s future. Now she had one question that needed an answer.
What did she want to do about her own future?
* * *
Sibyl caught herself wishing Naomi had chosen this evening to pay her a visit, but she knew she had to handle this by herself. If she was ever going to stand on her own two feet, she had to begin with her parents. Her father was striding about the parlor like he owned it while her mother studied the furnishings with envy. Sibyl thought she just might tell her mother to take her pick. It would give her an excuse to buy furniture of her own choosing.
“You know you can’t run the bank,” her father was saying. “You must turn it over to me. If I can’t find the time to manage it, I’ll sell it for you.”
Sibyl thought she must have loved her father at some point in her life. Surely a young girl would love the man who protected her, made her feel safe and loved. Only he’d never made her feel loved and not even particularly safe. He was unhappy that she was his only child. He was even unhappier she was a girl. She couldn’t recall that he’d ever put his feelings into words. Looks she caught before he turned away, things not said or shared, times she was ignored or considered deficient of understanding, being left entirely in female company—all of these spoke to his belief that she was a disappointment to him. She could probably have accepted all of that because that was the way most men thought of women.
But all of that changed when he killed the man she loved and forced her to marry one she didn’t.
“You wouldn’t want to be thought the forward kind of woman who would go into business,” her mother was saying. “It’s very unladylike.”
Her mother conveniently glossed over the fact that her cousin Mae Oliver owned a millinery shop, Polly Drummond ran a bakery, and Amber Johnson worked in the mercantile. But making hats, baking bread, and selling household goods were considered suitable work for women. Setting herself up as the head of a bank—a job that would put her in competition with men—was something else entirely.
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