Love Conquers All (Cutter's Creek Book 14)

by Annie Boone

  Lana took a step back from her friend, gripping her hands. Shouldn’t the mention of Oliver Johnston’s name bring me excitement? she thought. But instead, it just makes me want to hide away. Almost every part of her rebelled at the prospect of seeing him.

  But that just had to be jitters about going out with someone new. Mr. Johnston seemed like a nice young man, and he worked as a writer. At least when he wasn’t working at being a postal attendant and running the printing press.

  Surely, they would be a good fit. She walked to her mirror and checked her hair, making sure every curl was pushed back into her bun. She ran her hands over the skirt of her dress, smoothing out as many wrinkles as she could. Dark circles rested under her blue eyes, a sign she hadn’t slept well. She turned to look at Felicity, who gave her an encouraging look.

  “It’s a start,” Lana said, walking out of her room. She made her way down the stairs, sliding her hand over the smooth banister as she took careful steps. The last thing she needed was to fall down the stairs and end up in a heap at the feet of the man who might be able to help her forget her mistake with Max.

  Oliver stood at the bottom of the stairs, wearing a dark leather duster coat and wool pants. He held his black bowler hat in his hands, letting her get a good look at his slicked back brown hair. He turned to her and smiled, but not one part of her responded. In fact, a chill raced through her. A chill she didn’t quite understand.

  Was it the smile that looked too eager or the fixed look in his eyes that made him seem over-confident? She didn't know. But at that moment, she didn’t care. She just needed to take that first step.

  She stepped in front of him, and the fresh scent of bay and amber floated around her. The paper must be doing well, if he could afford to wear an expensive men’s fragrance like that. And he must be a regular patron of Prater’s Haberdashery the way he was dressed.

  “Miss Garrett.” He slightly nodded his head in her direction. “I thought we might take a drive together. Perhaps over to the river. We can park at the red chapel and get to the riverbank and the clearing there.”

  Lana worked her jaw as thoughts collided in her mind. She wanted to tell him she had changed her mind. Maybe that she was sick. Would that be cruel? It was quite obvious just by looking at her that nothing ailed her. She had told him to come today, after all.

  “That sounds lovely. Let me get my coat.”

  Chapter 10

  Once bundled up for the cold, she stepped out onto the front porch. He offered his arm as they walked down the front stairs. With her gloved hand tucked into the crook of Oliver’s arm, she tried to keep up with him as he walked quickly. A brisk cold wind circled her, making that chill settle deeper into her.

  The cottonwoods around her yard were bare of their leaves—leaves that now lay in crumpled brown piles. She looked up at the sky and noticed the clouds had darkened and seemed thick. Was a storm approaching? She could never correctly gauge the weather despite being the daughter of a rancher.

  Lana turned to look at Oliver and stumbled when she wasn’t paying attention to where they were walking. He patted her hand lightly, chuckling, and continued walking. He was barely acknowledging her misstep. Did he even care?

  And why did his smile look so smug? Like he had won something. Or was she just imagining things? She reminded herself that it was possibly she was taking a negative attitude about him simply because he wasn’t Max.

  They took his carriage to the little red chapel, as it was known around town, and parked there to walk down to the river. She listened to him talk of his plans for the paper and the town. And he had big plans. He revealed that he was planning to become the mayor one day. She wasn’t sure if she should feel excited or annoyed that he’d shared his lofty goal. Was he trying to impress her or was he showing his arrogance?

  They reached the river and stood watching it flow slowly by. She looked across to the other side, noting that the water hadn’t yet frozen yet. Several tall stalks of dried grass spiked up on the edge of the water. She stepped to the clump of grass and reached out to snap off one of the twigs. Her effort gave her something to do with her hands while she thought of something to say.

  Oliver’s steps approached her and he stopped next to her. From the corner of her eye, she glanced at him, noting how he only stood a few inches taller than her. Max had towered over her, making her feel safe and feminine. Then his eyes fixed on her, making her wonder if he thought she already belonged to him. She shuddered and said the first thing that came to her mind.

  “I imagine writing news stories is interesting, but do you write fiction stories, too, Mr. Johnston?”

  “When I’m mayor, I plan on campaigning for the town to get its own mill. Either we’ll set one up owned by the town or we can entice a businessman to do it privately. Can you imagine how that will help boost the town’s economy?”

  Lana’s mouth dropped open. Oliver didn’t even notice. She clenched her hands into fists and looked up at the darkening sky. A dreariness took over the air around her and crowded out the last bit of hope in her heart. Had he heard a word she’d said?

  “I believe helping the town’s economy will help grow my own business, but also solidify my place in history. I have to admit I want to be remembered as a mayor who was a forward thinker.”

  He chuckled lightly as if this lofty revelation made him endearing to himself. It was appalling that he seemed so focused on himself, as if she was just meant to listen adoringly and agree with anything he said. It was clear that her thoughts and opinions were of no value to him at all unless they were focused on her adoration of him and his aspirations.

  She walked away from him, dropping the long stalks of grass she had picked to the ground. They needed to get back soon, before Josh came looking for them with his shotgun. Perhaps she should let him. Then she snapped back to reality. Josh wanted her to find someone else and Oliver Johnston was considered to be a good candidate. Her brother wouldn’t be out searching for them. She was out of luck there.

  Mr. Johnston’s strong hand gripped her arm, stopping her. Every part of her stiffened as he turned her towards him, stilling her. He gripped her other arm with his free hand and stared into her eyes.

  “Miss Garrett, your beauty is quite extraordinary.”

  Yes, she looked like the perfect wife for a future mayor, she imagined. Is that what he saw in her? A perfect mayor’s wife?

  He leaned in a little bit and the scent of bay and amber surrounded her again. “In fact, I think you’re the prettiest girl in Cutter’s Creek.”

  Lana didn’t know what to do or say. Should she acknowledge the compliment or nod or smile? He repulsed her, but she didn’t want to be rude.

  While she was trying to decide what to do, he leaned in farther. His face only inches from hers. Instinctively, she spun from his arms, breaking his grasp. She flung her arms around her waist and took several steps from him. Her chest rose and fell with each of her deep breaths as her heart beat wildly.

  She knew he had been about to kiss her. She remembered the kiss she had freely offered to Max. A chaste kiss, on her lips, before he left to return to New York. They had shared that sweet moment the morning he had come to say goodbye to her. After he had asked if he could write to her. She hadn’t even let him finish before she said yes.

  Lana looked over her shoulder, back at Oliver Johnston who stood with his hands on his hips and his head bent to the side. The thought of letting someone else's kiss try to erase the cherished memory of Max’s was quite revolting to her. And the very idea that this arrogant man would think he could kiss her on their first outing was insulting.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Garrett, if I moved too quickly. I just feel there is a connection between us. Won’t you agree?”

  A black hawk flew overhead, circling as if looking for prey. It swooped down as tension filled her. The bird came up with nothing clamped in its claws, and the tension dissipated. For some reason, she wanted whatever rodent that had been in its sight to
escape, be free. Maybe she suddenly felt a kinship with the hunted animal.

  The sound of steps crunching on dried grass and leaves approached her. Two large hands clamped down on her shoulders, making the tension fill her again.

  “I suppose I should get you back home then, my dear.”

  He hadn’t even noticed her silence when he asked if she felt the connection he felt. He was behaving as if her affirmative response was understood.

  She nodded and turned, walking beside him but careful to leave some space between them. As they walked back, he began telling her how he wished to expand the newspaper to increase sales. Not one word he said caught her attention, but she let him drone on. He never noticed she didn’t respond to him. He never acknowledged anything she’d said before she decided he was a lost cause.

  Once back home, she slipped from his carriage and raced up the front steps. She finally felt safe standing on the front porch with her gloved hands clasped together. The proper thing would be to invite him to supper and the expectation in his eyes told her he expected just such an invitation. Every part of her rebelled against the idea. She needed some space, to clear her mind. More than anything, she needed to be away from him.

  “I had a nice walk, Mr. Johnston,” she said. “Thank you.”

  A full smile stretched across his face. He stepped onto the bottom step and looked up at her. “Perhaps, you’d like to have supper with my parents. Maybe tomorrow night? I could also show you the shop.”

  Lana fumbled with her fingers, the word ‘no’ burning behind her lips. Something about this young man repulsed her though she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was more than the way he dominated the conversation. What was it, though? Or could it be she was just overreacting since her heart still yearned for Max? She gave a short nod of her head.

  “Good night, Miss Garrett.” Mr. Johnston tipped his hat and walked back to his carriage. When he was finally gone, Lana spun to the front door and hurried inside to the warmth.

  She stopped short, as Felicity jumped from where she sat on a wooden chair. Clearly, she had been waiting for her. Lana motioned for her to follow, and they walked up the stairs side by side. Once in her room, she flopped down on her bed stretching out, focusing on the ceiling. She could already imagine what life with Oliver Johnston would be like.

  “How was it?” Felicity sat down on the end of her bed, looking excited and expectant.

  “What am I going to do, Felicity? I feel so torn.” She sniffled as tears rose in her. “My manuscripts keep getting rejected by publishers, and not one man in this town interests me. I feel like my only option is to be dependent on my brother for the rest of my life or marry a man I could never love.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse than I can put into words.”

  She thought of how Oliver Johnston had treated her. He was a self-centered windbag. He wasn’t looking for a woman who could think for herself. He just wanted a pretty woman on his arm who would focus on him like he did himself.

  What a contrast to Max! He had sat next to her during the Christmas dance listening to the stories she wanted to create. Wasn’t there a man like that in Cutter’s Creek? Somewhere?

  “Well, there are other young men. Oliver Johnston isn’t the only one.”

  “But not one of them makes my heart flutter. Isn’t that important? You’ve told me a hundred times that just a look from Josh can make you forget your words. And it’s been like that since you were a child!”

  “It’s true that Josh has that effect on me still, and I do think it’s important. But companionship is important, too. Someone to take care of and have him take care of you.”

  “I want both. Oh! I hate this! Maybe I shouldn’t give up too early.”

  Felicity nodded in agreement.

  “He invited me to have supper with his family tomorrow. Maybe I should go. I said I would when he asked, but I am thinking of canceling.”

  “What do you want to do, Lana?”

  She sighed and felt defeated. Then she couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of her situation.

  “What I really want to do would send all of you into a hissy fit worse than a spooked horse. You all like him and I really don’t. Perhaps I just need to rest.”

  “God will work everything out. I know He has a plan. You know it, too. That’s more important than what we all think or want.”

  Her friend stood and walked out the door, closing it behind her.

  How she hoped that was true! Lana sat up and glanced at her desk. She longed to read through the letters again, to let herself get lost in Max’s sweet words. He was always interested in what she had to say, which was a stark contrast to that self-centered Oliver Johnston.

  She stood and went over to the desk, gingerly laying her hand on the lid of the letter box. She turned away. If she was going to move on, she had to resist. She picked up the box and walked to her wardrobe. She flung the door open and shoved the box to the back. Maybe if it was hidden amongst the hat boxes and shoes, she wouldn’t think about it anymore.

  Out of sight, out of mind. Soon the attachment for them would disappear, just like Max had.

  Chapter 11

  Max raised the crinkled paper to his face and inhaled the faded rose scent Lana had dabbed on. The scent surrounded him, entrancing him. How did it remain after two months? Maybe it hadn’t and he only conjured it up in his mind. He lowered the letter and looked at the neat strokes and elegantly curved lines. Her script was as beautiful as she was.

  The soft rhythm of footsteps made him lower the letter and stuff it in a box at the bottom of his drawer. Miss Markson came into the small office, apparently with news. She was smiling and there was a blush to her cheeks that always seemed to be there. He looked up when she entered the room.

  She folded her hands primly in front of her waist and tilted her head to the side. “Mr. Hightower is sleeping.”

  He nodded and walked towards the window knowing she’d follow him. Once again, a slight drizzle fell from the sky, though the clouds looked to be trying to break up just above the tall buildings in the distance. The sidewalks were damp along the line of brownstones surrounding the home he had grown up in.

  There would be no walk today. He and Miss Markson had been taking short treks together to get fresh air and get away from the oppression of sickness. They both needed the break.

  During this time with Miss Markson, Max had found it increasingly difficult to keep himself engaged in the conversation. The woman was pleasant, but they really had nothing in common. She had not read one Dickens or Stevenson novel and though at night she allowed him to read poems from Wordsworth aloud, she often fidgeted as her gaze darted around the parlor.

  Miss Markson stepped to his side and looked out at the rain. A thick strand of her brown hair fell from the bun at the nape of her neck and lay across her cheeks. A small pain throbbed in his heart. No matter how much time he spent with her, thoughts of Lana still invaded his every waking moment. Even now, he remembered how Lana’s blonde tresses would always find a way to lie across her cheeks, even though she desperately tried to keep them under control.

  He rubbed his fingers together, remembering how silky they felt in between his fingers. He could caress them all day, he imagined.

  “Mrs. Hemmer has made a dinner. A small repast, really. Perhaps it would be nice to sit down together and enjoy a meal.”

  He nodded and offered his arm to her, escorting her out of the office as he tried to think about what they could speak of. As they walked down the stairs to the kitchen, the scent of roast chicken and yeast rolls floated to him. Despite the fact that he had skipped lunch, no hunger pangs filled him.

  Max guided her into the dining room. Two candles were lit standing in crystal holders. A pot of evergreen branches sat in the center. Mr. Hightower never liked to use candles for dinner but preferred lanterns. He thought candles set the wrong mood. Max glanced at Miss Markson from the corner of his eye. What was in her mind? Proba
bly a hope that he had given her. Max took a deep breath as the feeling of being tapped encircled him. What was he going to do? He led Miss Markson to the table, pulling out her chair, as was the polite thing to do. She whispered a small thanks and sat.

  He went to the head of the table and picked up the plate and eating utensils and moved them to the chair opposite of Miss Markson, his usual place. He wasn’t quite ready to take his mentor’s place. He sat and fiddled with the napkin, as he said a brief grace.

  Once finished, he lifted his gaze and focused on Miss Markson who blushed as she batted her lashes. He shook his head and reached for the tureen of vegetable soup. What was it about him that she was so attracted to? They shared none of the same interests, and they could find very little to talk about. Their conversations were almost always one-sided.

  He labeled a small spoonful of soup in the white china bowl she held out to him, before spooning some into his own bowl. The scent of pepper and potatoes surrounded him. Could it be the money? But would a girl just interested in his wealth blush like she did in his presence? Perhaps he should test her.

  “What do you think of Montana, Miss Markson?”

  Miss Markson patted her mouth with her napkin and then lowered it. “Montana?”

  “Yes, have you ever wanted to see it? To perhaps live there?”

  She furrowed her brows as she dipped her spoon for another sip of her soup. She half raised it to her mouth but then stopped. “I haven’t ever thought of it. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I plan on moving there soon.”

  Her eyes widened as her spoon clattered to the table. Small splotches of pale red soup spread across the cloth. “Excuse me. I, um… Something frightened me.”

  She grabbed her napkin and began dabbing up the mess while he watched her frantic movements. Once done, she left her crumpled napkin near her bowl and retook her seat. She picked up her spoon and lay it in the soup. She didn’t take another bite, however. She seemed lost in thought.