“Do you feel you could ask any one of them to take the time to teach you?”
She’d already thought of that. The only person deeply involved in the management of the bank was her cousin Ethan, and he didn’t have the spare time to teach her how to be his competition. Nor did she feel it was fair to ask him now that she’d had time to consider the matter in more detail. “No, I don’t. We’re a close family, but we’re all responsible for ourselves.”
“Do you think he could spare the time to look at my work and tell you if I’m honest and capable?”
Ethan was very busy, but maybe Colby or Jared could help in a pinch. They had their own businesses, but they would be sure to know if Mr. Holstock was cheating her. “You say your name is Holstock. One of my cousins is married to a Jared Smith, but he was born a Holstock. He came from Texas.”
“I’m from Chicago, so I’m sure there’s no connection.”
She hadn’t thought so, but Holstock was an unusual name, and Jared and Colby had a missing brother somewhere. But beyond having a big-framed body, Logan Holstock didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to them. “Sorry. I seem to have wandered from the problem at hand.” She took a deep breath and made her decision. It didn’t make sense, but she felt drawn to this man. Maybe it was just that he’d saved her life, but she was curious to know more about him. “I have no way of knowing if you’re honest, if you can balance a ledger, or even if you can read. I wouldn’t know anything about you except that you’re very brave and an excellent shot. But you could very easily have backed out of the bank and left us to our fate. Because you didn’t, I’m going to take a chance that you can help me. I have to be honest and say I would never have considered this for one minute if I weren’t desperate.”
She did need someone to explain the mysteries of all those figures that filled so many books, but maybe “desperate” wasn’t the right word. Maybe she was fearful she would fail on her own. Maybe she just needed to feel that she wasn’t facing this battle alone. Maybe it was the feeling there was more to this man than met the eye, and she was curious to find out what it might be.
“I understand,” Logan said. “If I do anything to upset you or cause you to question my honesty or my work, just tell me, and I’ll leave.”
“That goes without saying. Now about your wages.”
“I don’t want to be paid.”
That was completely unexpected. “Why not?”
“I have enough money for the time I’m going to be here.”
“You’re already planning to leave?”
He took a moment to answer. “Let’s say I’m not planning to leave but expecting it.”
“I would feel better paying you.”
“Why don’t we wait to see if I’m worth being paid?”
That seemed a reasonable, if unexpected, request. “I have to tell you the bank isn’t doing a lot of business. My husband was a very arrogant man. He offended so many people they opened a new bank so people wouldn’t have to endure his rudeness any longer.”
“I’m sure things will change now that you’re in charge. I need to ask one favor. Don’t tell anyone I’m the one who shot the robbers.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want people staring at me. I—” An abrupt change came over him. He looked uncomfortable, maybe even unwell. He got to his feet. “I need to be going, but I’ll be here first thing in the morning. I know accepting the help of a stranger is a big gamble for you. I promise you will not regret it.”
With that, he turned and left her office with quicker steps than he had entered it. He could have hardly gone through the front door when Cassie knocked and entered without waiting to be invited.
“What did he want? Did he ask for a reward? How much did you promise to give him?”
“He didn’t ask for a reward, and he refused one when I offered.”
“Why? He looks sick, not crazy.”
“He says he has experience in business. He has offered to help me learn how to manage the bank.”
“You didn’t believe him, did you? I bet the closest he’s been to any business is begging for handouts.”
Sibyl picked up the money Holstock had given her and handed it to Cassie. “He was coming to the bank to open an account the other morning. Here’s the money he wants to deposit.”
Cassie counted the money in half the time it had taken Sibyl. The total caused her eyes to grow wide. “What’d he do? Rob a bank?”
“I doubt he would foil a robbery if he were a thief himself. I don’t know how he came by the money, but there’s more to that man than meets the eye. You only have to talk with him a few minutes to realize he hasn’t always looked like he’s living hand-to-mouth.”
Cassie was more blunt. “He looks like a bum.”
“Bum or not, he’ll be starting work here tomorrow morning.”
“You can’t do that. He’ll scare away the customers.”
“He’ll be working in the office with me.”
“Does Naomi know about this?”
Even Cassie didn’t believe she knew enough to make decisions for herself. “I have great respect for my cousin’s intelligence and ability to judge people, but if I’m going to learn to run this bank, I have to start making decisions on my own.”
“I can help. I’ve been here five years.”
“Norman didn’t tell you any more than he told me. There’s more here than either of us knows. If Mr. Holstock can’t help me, I may have to sell the bank.”
“You can’t do that. You’ll never get a decent price when the other bank has taken so many customers. I can’t smile brightly enough to bring them back.”
“I know. But even if I could get a decent price, I wouldn’t want to sell. I want to prove I can run this bank just as well as Norman did.”
* * *
Keeping his eyes closed, Logan leaned against the tree until he felt his strength begin to return. He didn’t care that he’d lost the little breakfast he had been able to eat. He was just thankful he hadn’t been sick in Sibyl Spencer’s office. He was aware of a growing attraction to this woman. It wasn’t just appreciation of her beauty or empathy over the loss of her husband. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something more that seemed to reach out to him, something that compelled him to think of her almost constantly, to compare her to every woman he’d ever known. It mortified him for anyone to see his weakness, especially Sibyl. It was useless vanity, but he’d always been in perfect health, immune to the ailments that plagued other people, and practically tireless. He supposed he’d taken pride in his good health, but mostly, he’d take it for granted. When you’ve always had something, it didn’t seem special. Losing it had shown him how badly mistaken he was.
He didn’t know where he was. He’d run from the bank and headed for the first group of trees he saw. There wasn’t a lot of privacy—the desert being unlikely to produce a lot of growth even in the rainy season—but everyone was busy with their morning chores while it remained relatively cool. Before it got hot, he’d be back at his camp on the ridge, safely hidden among the trees and about two thousand feet above the town.
“Are you all right, mister?”
Logan opened his eyes to find a little girl staring up at him with concern in her eyes. She was a beautiful child—blue eyes, corn-silk blond hair, and skin that would shame a peach. Her dress was slightly dirty, but her face and hands were clean. He hadn’t heard her come up. He didn’t want to lie to the child, but he wanted to cause her to lose interest in him and go back to playing. “I’m just a little tired. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
“You don’t look fine to me. I think you look sick. Want me to take you to the doctor? I know the way.”
So she wasn’t going to lose interest in him, and she wasn’t going away without a better explanation. “I don’t need a doctor. I just had a weak spell.
It won’t last long.”
“What is a weak spell?”
He wasn’t in the mood for explanations. Why couldn’t she have been a grubby little boy he could have run off without a qualm? “It’s when you feel tired all of a sudden and have to sit down.”
“Aunt Naomi said she felt like that a lot before Annabelle was born.”
Logan smothered a smile. “Well, I’m not going to have a baby.”
“Men can’t have babies. Only ladies.”
A serious girl who didn’t see the humor in Logan’s answer. “And it’s a very good thing. I don’t believe men would make very good mothers.”
“Men can’t be mothers. They have to be fathers.”
He was clearly out of his depth here. He had no idea what to say to a child this young. It was clear she didn’t like anything he’d said. “You’re a very smart little girl. I’m sure your mother is very proud of you.”
“Mama says she gives me all her love because she doesn’t have anybody else now.”
Now he placed the child. She’d been sitting on the front bench at Norman Spencer’s funeral. He’d been too far back to get a good look at her. “I don’t have a mother. I had a father, but he died several years ago.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Very much.”
“I—”
“Kitty! What are you doing here?”
“I’m talking to this man.”
A boy a few years older, maybe about ten, and several inches taller had pushed his way through the undergrowth with the energy typical of a child who spent most of his life outside. He was a handsome young man, but unlike the little girl he appeared to be unconcerned with his looks or the condition of his clothes. His hair looked like he’d come through a bush backward, and his clothes were snagged and dirty at the knees. He approached Logan.
“What’s wrong with your face? It’s puffed up like bread dough.”
Kitty turned on the boy like an avenging angel. “That’s a mean thing to say, Peter Blaine. If I was to tell your papa, he’d tan the hide right off you.”
Before Peter could reply, a blond girl a few years older than Kitty and looking remarkably like Peter burst into the clearing. “Here you are,” she exclaimed, out of breath. “It’s not fair for both of you to leave without telling me where you were going.”
“I wasn’t going anywhere,” Peter said. “I was looking for Kitty. She’s talking to this man.” He indicated Logan.
“Oh.” She reacted like she hadn’t been aware of Logan until Peter pointed him out. “Who are you? What’s wrong with your face?”
“My name is Logan Holstock, and I’m resting in the shade.”
“He’s sick,” Kitty informed her.
“I’m feeling much better,” Logan insisted.
The girl didn’t look convinced. “You don’t look like it. We can take you to the doctor.”
“I already told him,” Kitty said. “He says he doesn’t need a doctor. I’m Kitty Spencer,” she told him. “Peter and Esther are my cousins. We’ll take care of you until you feel better.”
The sincerity in the girl’s voice touched Logan. “I’m feeling much better now, but thanks for the offer.”
“You don’t look a lot better,” Peter challenged.
“Don’t pay any attention to Peter,” Kitty said. “Aunt Naomi says Uncle Colby is letting him grow up as wild as a longhorn steer.”
Since Logan had never seen a longhorn steer, he wasn’t exactly sure how wild that might be. It was clear, however, that all three children felt free to speak their minds.
“I have to be going,” Logan said. “And I imagine your mothers are wondering where you three might be.”
“Mama says somebody always knows where we are,” Kitty said. “She says that’s what comes of being related to half the people in town.”
Logan couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have such a large family. It had always been just him and his father. His uncle only caused trouble, and Bridgette preferred to spend her time with her friends. It made him wonder if he and his brothers would have been like these three children if their parents hadn’t died. But finding them now wouldn’t be the same. They would have jobs, families, and responsibilities. Life had been good to him, but he was realizing he’d missed far more than he’d ever guessed. And now it was too late to do anything about it.
“You’re very fortunate to have so many people who love you,” Logan said.
“Mrs. Oliver called Peter a hellion.” Esther giggled then turned to her brother. “If you tell Mama I said that, I’ll tell her what you said about Preacher Simpson.”
“I’m no snitch,” Peter said, incensed his sister would accuse him of such treachery. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked Logan.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Then we gotta be going. Kitty is only six. She can’t stay out playing as long as we can.”
Logan watched the children head off, all three talking at once. Why had he never known children could be like that? He would have given anything to have had two or three of his own. Why was he learning everything when it was too late?
* * *
The next morning, Logan stared at his saddled horse and cursed himself for a fool. Why had he offered to help Sibyl? She was related to half the people in Cactus Corner. Any one of a dozen people could probably do everything he could. The dog rose from where he’d been resting at the edge of Logan’s camp. He’d come a little closer each day.
“You’ve had a rotten turn of luck, too,” Logan said to the dog. “What do you think I should do?”
The dog whined softly.
“Tell me to unsaddle the horse, take my rifle, and go hunting.”
The dog inched closer, then paused.
“You’re no help. Some bastard practically beat you to death, and you’re willing to trust me because I feed you. You’re as foolish as I am.”
Logan had argued with himself ever since he got back to his camp. He had as many reasons to stay away from Sibyl as he had to help her. He didn’t really know anything about her, but he found himself attracted to her. She was a lovely woman. Beautiful in fact. Any man would be attracted to her. She was a young widow with a small daughter to provide for and a business she knew nothing about. Everything about her situation was bound to arouse the protective instincts of any man. He wouldn’t be surprised if, before the end of the week, half the men in Cactus Corner had offered to help her. The fact that she was a rich and beautiful widow was guaranteed to bring her to the attention of men—some handsome and charming—who would try to take advantage of her. Was that why he offered to help, to protect her? She had family to do that. She didn’t need some stranger who would live for only a few more months.
He felt a genuine desire to help, but was that all? Last night he’d dreamed of her. And there was nothing altruistic about those dreams. If he hadn’t already felt so rotten, he’d feel embarrassed. How could he say he had a selfless desire to help, that nothing more than that had prompted his offer, when he had erotic dreams? He’d never dreamed about Bridgette like that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever dreamed about Bridgette at all.
“It’s a rotten piece of luck,” he said to the dog. “I finally meet a woman who makes me have dreams I’d be embarrassed to share with anyone, and I’m a dead man walking. You ever met a female who made you dream like that?” Logan struck his forehead with the base of his palm. “What the hell’s wrong with me? Not only am I asking a dog for advice, I’m asking him about his dreams. If I were back in Chicago, they’d lock me away in an asylum for the permanently insane.”
The dog whined and crept closer.
“If you had any idea what I’ve been saying, you’d turn tail and head for the woods. I must be crazy. Whatever has made my face look like it’s about to bust must have invaded my brain. Maybe I’ll soon be runn
ing through the woods barking like you.” He laughed, then sobered. “Only you don’t bark. Are you afraid that man will find you? I ought to be hiding, too, yet I’m going into town to teach Sibyl Spencer how to run her bank. After that…well, we know what comes after that. You’d better look around for someone else to feed you. Maybe that boy who came by a few days ago. He seems like the kind of young man who’d take real good care of a dog like you. You think about it. You can’t depend on me forever.”
The dog’s eyes never left Logan.
“If you insist on staying, you can crawl inside the tent. It gets right hot in the afternoon.”
With a sigh signifying the acceptance of the inevitable, Logan mounted his horse. Gathering the reins, he headed toward the trail leading down the rim and into town. He’d known from the beginning he was going. Maybe that’s why the dog hadn’t said anything. No point in giving advice that would be ignored.
* * *
“Elliot Lowe?”
The sound of his forgotten name caused Logan to stiffen. He had been wary when Cassie informed him that a man in the bank lobby had asked to speak to the man with the puffy face.
“Who are you?” he asked. “And why would you expect me to respond to that name?” The man didn’t appear disconcerted by Logan’s unfriendly manner or the nature of his question.
“Is there somewhere we can speak in private?”
“Here is fine.” The bank was empty except for Cassie and Horace. “My name is Logan Holstock. You have followed the wrong man.”
“I don’t think so.” The man looked pleased rather than disconcerted. “I’m a Pinkerton agent hired by Miss Bridgette Lowe to find you and take you home. I followed you from Chicago.”
Realizing this was a conversation he couldn’t avoid, Logan said, “Let’s go out back.”
He wasn’t surprised Bridgette had tried to find him. Her father had done nothing to help his brother build his businesses. Nevertheless, she believed she should have been the one to inherit her uncle’s money. Now her only way to get it was to marry Logan. “How did you find me?”
“Your looks made it easy to follow your trail.”
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