by Cat Cahill
Eli was certain his face was the same shade as the red flowers that sat in a vase on the table to the left of his chair. And if he’d observed correctly, Molly’s face was pinker than it had been also. “You don’t have to call me that. I hold no local—”
“Pssh.” Mrs. Blanchet waved a hand at him. “Isn’t yellow a lovely color on her?”
“Yes,” Eli said, although it felt as if he had to fight a nest of snakes in his throat to get the word out. Not that he didn’t think Molly looked beautiful. He found her radiant in whatever color she wore. But he’d never said so. He’d never had the courage to say so.
“Although Mr. Emerson was quite taken with the red silk you had on the other night,” Mrs. Blanchet said, her attention entirely on Molly. “He told Mrs. Peabody so, and she mentioned it to me at tea yesterday.”
A zing of irritation rolled through Eli. His gaze shot to Molly, who smiled at her aunt. Somehow, that smile was more painful than Mrs. Blanchet’s words.
“Our Molly was quite the belle of the ball. Several young men of standing have asked to call on her.” Mrs. Blanchet looked at Molly approvingly as Eli tapped his hand against his knee. A sudden restlessness made it hard for him to remain seated. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, but sitting here and listening to Molly’s aunt fawn over how popular her niece was with the eligible men in town certainly was not it.
“Auntie,” Molly said, her eyes on her hands.
Eli burned to know how many men were coming to call on Molly, and when, precisely, so he could . . . what, exactly? Push them out of the way and command her attention all to himself?
He pressed his nails into the palms of his hands.
“Now, Deputy, have you any social plans while you’re in town? Are you attending the Lucketts’ soiree by chance? Or the dance at the Prestons’? They always have such lovely balls.” Mrs. Blanchet watched him now.
Eli forced his hands to relax. “I’m not acquainted with those families, I’m afraid.” Although . . . “You wouldn’t be speaking about Gregory Preston? Of Preston Timber and Logging?”
“Yes! He’s the eldest son in the family. I take it you’re acquainted with Mr. Preston, then?” Mrs. Blanchet beamed.
“Yes, well, no . . .” Preston’s name was on the short list he’d compiled of men who had done business with his father. If he could wrangle an invitation to this gathering, it would save him time in needing to track the man down at his office in town. “I’d like to meet him,” Eli said honestly. “For business purposes.”
“Ah, well, then you must come to the dance!”
Eli sat up straighter. Had it really been that easy? “Are you certain? The Prestons don’t know me and—”
Mrs. Blanchet waved a hand at him again. “They won’t mind a whit. I’ll tell them you’re our guest.”
Eli snuck a glance at Molly. She gave him an encouraging smile and he tried not to wonder too much if that meant she was happy he’d be attending the dance.
“If you’re looking to make business connections, you’ll meet many of our city’s finest businessmen at the Prestons’. You ought to sit down with my husband also. I’m certain he could help you.”
“That’s very kind, thank you. I’ll let you know.” Mr. Blanchet, thankfully, was not on Eli’s list, and he hoped his answer was satisfactory to Mrs. Blanchet. The last thing he wanted to look to Molly’s aunt was ungrateful.
Mrs. Blanchet shooed the cat from her lap and stood. “I’m afraid I must go see to the preparations for dinner. It was wonderful to see you, Deputy.” She took his hand as he stood and squeezed it. “Please do come around again.”
Eli thanked her for her generosity. He hoped for a few more moments with Molly for time to . . . what? Just the idea of telling her how he felt about her made it feel as if his tongue had swollen to three times its size. But he needed to do something, say something, to her before he missed his chance completely.
Molly stood also, smoothing the striped skirt she wore. Eli wished he could remember to compliment her on such things as skirts or hats. She might like that.
Molly moved toward the door, and Eli followed her. She paused by a table topped with lace and turned to face him. “I am so happy you’re going to the Prestons’. It will be so much less . . . suffocating with you there.”
Eli had no idea what she meant, but her words brought a smile to his face. She was happy he’d be there—that was all he needed to hear. He tried to be sensible and not to read too much into it, but sense was something that frittered around the edges of his mind at the moment.
“Might I call on you again?” he asked.
Molly tilted her head, her eyes narrowing just slightly, as if what he’d said confused her. “Of course. Please let me know how you progress with your mother’s problem.”
“I will. It happens that Gregory Preston is one of the men my father regularly did business with.”
“Oh? What a happy coincidence!” The barest touch of a frown tugged the corners of her mouth down, but it was gone before Eli could be certain it was ever there to begin with.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said. And before he could convince himself not to do it, he’d taken her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. Her hand was small and delicate in his own, and her skin warm against his lips.
“Good afternoon, Eli,” she said softly as she withdrew her hand.
When he took his leave, she was smiling. Perhaps he did stand a fighting chance against the Mr. Prestons of Denver, after all.
Chapter Seven
“It’s of primary importance that the berries arrive as quickly as possible, else they go bad before reaching tables here in Denver. Now oranges . . .” Mr. Carter droned on about the oranges his family’s company imported from California.
Molly glanced out the carriage window. Rain continued to lash the sides of the Brougham. It had been cloudy when they left her aunt and uncle’s home, but dry. Else she never would have agreed to a drive with the tedious Mr. Carter. Of course, she also hadn’t realized exactly how dull the man was before stepping into a carriage with him. He was striking with his blond hair and freckles, but his personality was as bland as a bowl of mush.
“Now, my sister insisted we continue purchasing apples from the orchards outside the city, and I must say, she was correct. Colorado apples are quite popular and . . .”
Could he not see how bored she was? The man must be completely oblivious to the frown on her face or the way her eyes kept drifting to the windows or her unsuccessful attempts at changing the subject. Mr. Carter was not the first male caller she’d had since the birthday celebration last week, but he was certainly the least interesting.
Her gaze found the window again as Mr. Carter shifted next to her. They had paused nearby a row of retail establishments. Several carriages—many of them identical to Mr. Carter’s—lined the road. Well-dressed ladies scurried to the waiting buggies while their male companions and drivers carried packages. A few gentlemen hurried down the wooden walkway in front of the businesses. As she watched, a tall man with a worn brown hat exited what looked like a lawyer’s office. Molly squinted at the words painted on the window. Yes, it was a lawyer’s office. And the man . . . She squinted again as he looked up into the rain. It was Eli!
Her heart began beating faster and her fingers tingled as if she was nervous about something. Why should she feel anxious to see Eli? If anything, she ought to feel relieved, as this gave her the perfect opportunity to not only help a friend, but relieve her own boredom.
“Mr. Carter!” She interrupted the man as he soliloquized on the virtues of peaches. “We must rescue Mr. Jennings from this rain.” Without waiting for his response, she opened the door of the Brougham and leaned out just far enough to call for him.
Eli glanced up, and after a moment of searching for the source of his name, spotted her.
“Mr. Jennings!” she called. It felt strange to speak to him so formally, but shouting his Christian name across the boardwalk would lik
ely send tongues wagging about the two of them all across town. “Please, come in out of the rain.”
He moved toward the carriage as Mr. Carter looked on curiously.
Molly scooted back as he entered, the rain dripping from his hat and coat. Too late, she realized the Brougham had only the one wide seat. But that didn’t seem to faze Eli, who pulled down a retractable seat directly across from Molly. It looked as if it were made for a child, and Eli had to twist his legs to the side to fit.
“Thank you. I apologize for my appearance,” he said as he settled himself as best he could on the tiny seat. Mr. Carter nodded. He was too well-bred to say anything despite the disapproving look on his face.
Molly could have reached across the inch or so separating them and wrapped Eli in a hug, wet coat and all. He had no idea how he was saving her. Conversation could never be dull with Eli.
“Mr. Carter, please meet Deputy Jennings of Cañon City. Deputy, this is Mr. Carter. His family owns a fruit company.” The latter fact was the only piece of information she knew about Mr. Carter besides the fact he had a sister. He’d spoken of nothing else for the past thirty minutes.
“Deputy?” Mr. Carter’s eyebrows were raised. At last something besides fruit had finally intrigued him—a feat Molly apparently couldn’t accomplish on her own.
“Yes, to the Fremont County sheriff.” Eli removed his hat and set it in his lap. He ran his fingers through his hair, and Molly was seized by the oddest desire to do the same thing.
She clasped her hands in their tea-colored silk gloves together, immediately remembering—for approximately the hundredth time—the way Eli had kissed her hand before leaving a couple of days ago. He was being polite, she reminded herself again. He’d had plenty of opportunities to make any feelings he had for her known—and he hadn’t. There was no reason for her to believe otherwise now. He was a friend to her and nothing more. She’d do well to rein in these strange reactions she’d been having to him lately, lest she find herself leaving Denver with nothing but a broken heart.
No, she needed to place her attention on the men she was meeting here. She pursed her lips as she looked at Mr. Carter. Perhaps not on him, though. He’d bore her into an early grave.
“How interesting,” Mr. Carter said. “It seems like something out of the dreams of a young boy.”
It was an underhanded compliment, and Mr. Carter knew it. Molly fixed him with a frown, but Eli seemed to take it in stride.
“I didn’t necessarily dream of chasing down drunks or settling disputes between shopkeepers, but otherwise it is, as you say, interesting.” Eli had an amused look to his face as he spoke. He glanced at Molly, who bit back a grin.
Mr. Carter’s eyes narrowed, but only for a split second before he returned his attention to Molly. “Miss Hill, perhaps you’d enjoy a drive out to one of the orchards from which we purchase various sorts of fruit.”
Molly could think of nothing she wanted to do less. “I . . . regret that my social calendar may be full.” She gave him a smile that she hoped lessened the blow.
But Mr. Carter was undeterred. “Next week might do. Mornings would be best. Surely you have a morning or two free?”
Equal parts irritation and guilt rose inside Molly. Why couldn’t he see she wasn’t interested? And was she a terrible person for lying so to him? “My mornings, well . . .” She trailed off, searching in vain for an excuse that might spare the man’s feelings.
“I fear I’ve already engaged her with entertaining my mother each morning. She’s a widow and desires company more than anything. I’m certain you understand,” Eli said.
Molly gaped at him. It was an outright lie, unless . . . Did he want her to spend time with his mother? If so, why?
“I see,” Mr. Carter said, his eyebrows raised and a slice of annoyance in his voice as he regarded Molly. “Perhaps one afternoon, then. I can come fetch you about two o’clock. Let’s say Monday?”
Molly glanced down at her hands. She’d never been in such a situation. What could she say? She didn’t want to hurt Mr. Carter’s feelings, and yet, letting him believe he stood a chance in courting her was just as cruel. When she looked up, still uncertain how to turn Mr. Carter down, she found Eli watching her. He nodded ever so slightly before turning to Mr. Carter.
“Sir, I believe the lady is uninterested in visiting your orchards. Perhaps you might take another young lady of your acquaintance?”
Molly let out a breath and thanked God with every fiber of her being that Eli was here and had the perfect words to say to Mr. Carter.
However, it seemed Mr. Carter did not agree with her assessment.
“Pardon me?” he said, bristling like an angry cat. “That isn’t at all what she said. Was it, Miss Hill?”
Molly didn’t have a chance to reply. Eli straightened in his seat, as best he could, and looked Mr. Carter right in the eye. “It was, and I’d advise you to place your attentions elsewhere or you won’t like what happens next.”
Molly’s eyes widened at Eli’s words, even as a flush of pride rose through her. This was why he was a lawman. And he was here, protecting her.
“Are you threatening me?” Mr. Carter’s chest puffed out and his blue-gray eyes grew stormy.
“I’m doing no such thing,” Eli said with a smile. “Provided you accept Miss Hill’s decision like a gentleman.”
Mr. Carter gripped the seams of his jacket and pulled on them as he sat back. Molly had the distinct impression no one had ever talked to him like that before.
It was only a few strained, silent moments before they arrived at Aunt Ellen and Uncle John’s home. Molly mostly kept her eyes on the window, but occasionally shot looks at Eli, who gave her a reassuring grin.
“Good day, Mr. Carter,” Molly said before accepting Eli’s hand to exit the Brougham. “Thank you for the drive.”
“You’re very welcome,” he said in a strained voice. He didn’t attempt to help her out himself. In fact, it seemed to take every ounce of energy he had just to nod to her before she stepped out.
Eli took her by the elbow and led her to the front door as the rain fell steadily around them.
“Thank you,” she said once they arrived. “For deterring him.”
“I’m happy to scare away all other suitors you may wish to have removed from your presence,” he said, his eyes a merry green even in the gray rain. His hand hadn’t moved from her elbow and Molly found herself acutely aware of his touch.
Molly laughed. “Perhaps not all of them.” The words came out more teasing than she’d intended. And as a muscle twitched in Eli’s jaw, she wondered why she’d said such a thing. She wasn’t trying to make Eli jealous . . . was she? No, not only was that utterly pointless, but she wasn’t that sort of a girl.
Not that she’d ever had the opportunity to be that sort of a girl.
Molly glanced out at the rain, trying to stop the thoughts from tumbling through her head. “How will you get home? Would you like me to see if Uncle John’s driver will take you?”
“I’ll walk to the horsecar.” The intense look faded from Eli’s eyes as he smiled softly. “I promise a little rain won’t hurt me.”
“Are you certain? Perhaps you’d rather come in for a while?”
“I hate to turn down such an invitation, but Ma is waiting on me to bring her purchases.” He patted the pocket of his coat where Molly assumed he’d put the items he’d bought.
“All right. I’ll see you on Saturday, then, for the dance.”
“Saturday,” he said, finally releasing her elbow to tip his hat. “I’ll look forward to it as I never have anything else.” And with a smile, he made his way down the steps to the sidewalk.
Molly waited at the door despite the rain dripping from her hat until he was gone from her sight. As she entered the house, she found herself looking forward to Saturday too. But it wasn’t the bevy of suitors she might find there that played through her thoughts.
It was Eli.
Chapter Eight
Coming to this dance had been a bad idea.
Eli shifted uncomfortably in the corner of the Prestons’ large ballroom. When one of the family’s servants walked by with glasses of cold tea with chips of ice, he accepted one, if only to have something with which to occupy his hands. He’d hoped to accomplish two things tonight: speaking with a number of the men whose names were on the list he’d made and spending more time with Molly. But he hadn’t managed introductions to more than one of the men, whom he immediately dismissed as a suspect when he learned the man had sold his business for a pretty penny last fall. And Molly sat surrounded by a bevy of suitors, unreachable and—he feared—unattainable. Mr. Carter, he’d noticed, was clear across the room, trying to gain the attention of two other ladies.
He downed the tea in two gulps and set the empty glass on a table. It was ridiculous hiding here in the corner and feeling sorry for himself. He spotted the younger Mr. Preston on the fringes of the men surrounding Molly. He ran the logging and timber business he’d put together with his brothers, and then subsequently bought them out. He would be useful to speak with. And maybe he’d get a word in edgewise with Molly.
Determined, Eli strode across the room, weaving between groups of men and ladies in conversation and dodging a dancing couple whose exuberance had nearly sent them crashing into the people surrounding the dance floor.
“How is your ankle, Miss Hill? Are you certain you don’t need to lie down?” one of the men was asking Molly when Eli arrived.
He sidled in between Preston and a rather large fellow who watched Molly as if she weren’t quite real.
“Oh, no. It’s much better, thank you,” Molly said. She didn’t look quite real, not in that brilliant emerald dress and with the way her hair sat softly around her face. She looked instead like a painting, as if an artist’s imagination had come to life.
“Would you care to dance, then?” Preston asked, peering around the man in front of him.
“I’d love to, but perhaps in a few minutes? I ought to rest it a bit longer.” Molly turned a tight yet somehow still dazzling smile at Preston. But when her eyes landed on Eli, the tightness disappeared.