by Kristin Holt
Breakfast curdled in her stomach and for the first time in days, she wondered if her meal would stay down.
“See, I’m thinking you’re not as ladylike as you want us to believe. No. Nuh-uh. See, I figure you’re a runaway.”
Evelyn met his gaze, channeled her father’s business stare, the one upon which he’d built an unshakable reputation of standing his ground. Father never caved under pressure—not from powerful men and not from idiots like Putrid Pickle Pike. She’d like to pickle him.
She prayed he wouldn’t take note of her pounding pulse, cocked one brow, and waited in silence.
“Yes, indeed. A runaway soiled dove.”
Her heart seized, her body flashing white-hot. How dare he?
“Thought you’d do better for yourself, come here with a bastard in your belly and rope yourself a husband.”
She figured the only thing to do was walk away. She may be a fallen woman, but she was no whore. If she stayed, she’d slap that smirk off his chops.
She would not make excuses.
She would not stoop so low as to do him violence.
She would not cry.
Before she could take a step in any direction, his hand closed over her back side.
She shrieked.
He pinched, hard, then slapped her sit-down-upons and folded his arms, just in time for all of the women to turn and look in their direction.
“Mr. Pike,” Dora said imperiously, “you’re aware gentlemen are not invited to this rehearsal. You’ll see the Ladies’ Talent Show tonight.”
“Don’t mind me,” he called, an ‘aw-shucks’ smile making him seem quite approachable and friendly. “See, I was just makin’ sure Miss Brandt knows I’m stakin’ my claim. On her.”
She flushed, indignant. “No.”
“Oh, yes,” Pike said, laughter sounding half crazed. But the others didn’t seem to think so.
A couple of the youngest twits clapped their hands in delight. “Oh, another wedding!”
“Definitely not,” Evelyn stated, adamant.
“Course there is,” Pickle Pike muttered, looking at her squarely. He lowered his voice so the others couldn’t hear. “See, you don’t got much of a choice, Miss.”
She didn’t mind lying to him. “That’s Mrs. Brandt to you.”
Pike smiled. Land sakes, this idiot was impertinent.
“Who else gonna take you on? Bringing a bastard along for the ride? You’re lucky I’m offering.”
He said nothing she hadn’t already considered. How had he discerned her worst fears?
“But my offer comes with a price.” He inched closer, standing far too near for comfort. “A price you’re going to pay before the day is out. See, why would I buy the cow, when I haven’t sampled the milk?”
The crass statement of expected sexual favors infuriated her to the point of speechlessness. She abruptly turned away from the likes of Ugly Pike and headed with brisk strides toward the Quarters.
Even with all the other ladies out of the dormitory, she doubted Ugly Pike would dare invade the sanctity of the upper floor. No one would stand for it. She’d lock him out if she had to.
With her heart pounding and nausea rolling in her stomach, she realized the futility of that plan. One kick, and that flimsy lock would give way. She couldn’t return to the Quarters—she wouldn’t be safe there.
Society’s strictures couldn’t possibly protect her here.
Why had she been so blind?
She should have wired her parents right away.
“Wait up, Missy.”
Pike hadn’t the courtesy to call her by name.
Fury and indignation lengthened her stride. She refused to turn around. She wouldn’t go to the Quarters…so where?
Sam. She’d head for the mercantile and Sam’s protection.
“You invitin’ me up for a taste of that milk?”
Two more paces, her heart pounding, and she heard a scuffle behind her. Someone threw a punch—betrayed by the unmistakable smack of bone colliding against soft flesh, an ooof and muffled oath.
She whirled about to find Sam holding Ugly Pickle Pike by the collar, the cornered man swiping the back of his hand across his bleeding mouth.
How much had Sam heard?
Her heart pounded. She sucked in a great lungful of air, but the nausea crested, and she feared she’d lose her breakfast, right here, in the shrubbery at the edge of the track. Not a pleasant display.
“As Rule Enforcer,” Sam stated, his teeth clenched and his attention locked on Pike’s face, “This is your final warning. You will leave Mrs. Brandt—and all the ladies—alone.”
“Aw, Sam. It ain’t like that.”
That earned him a quick shake by the collar. Pike flinched, tried to shake Kochler off and failed. Sam had several inches over Pike, and evidently the stronger of the two.
Sam wrestled Pike into a headlock. “You want out of this competition altogether, banned from stepping across the line into town? One word, and you’re gone.”
Pike tried to shake off the choke hold, but Sam held firm. The space of two ragged breaths passed, then Sam deliberately and slowly released Pike who wiped his bleeding mouth on a shirtsleeve. He turned a venomous glare on Evelyn even as he responded to Sam. “I heard ya the first time.”
Somewhere in the middle of this rescue, Evelyn felt profound gratitude for Sam Kochler who’d put himself between the likes of disgusting Putrid Pike and herself. No matter what he’d heard, the man had obviously seen Pike trailing her and read the situation for what it was.
Embarrassment warred with gratitude. Pike’s accusations stung—because they struck a little too close to the truth. If he started mouthing off, how many of the other men would believe the worst of her, too?
Sam took a menacing step toward Pike. “Get yourself out of town and onto your claim. I’d better not see you back here ‘til the talent show starts. You hear me?”
“Yeah.” Pike sounded downright mean. “I hear you.”
Evelyn felt as though her boots had grown long roots. She didn’t like trembling and feeling so darn helpless. Her new adventure and chance at freedom wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Sam kept his attention firmly on Pike’s retreating form ‘til he was good and gone, then approached her, his expression softened in concern. “I’ll see you safely back to your room. I see that’s where you’re headed.”
“Thank you,” she said, hating the tightness in her voice. She sounded weak, scared—and all too revealing. Pike had gotten to her this time.
With her thoughts spinning like a whirlpool, she knew she had to do something about this, but couldn’t come to terms with it. But she would. She had to formulate a plan of dealing with the likes of Pike and his hurtful accusations.
Sam’s warm, solid hand settled on her back. He slowed, drawing her to a halt at his side. “We need to talk.”
Chapter Five
Sam joined Mrs. Brandt in the parlor of the Bride Quarters. Cool morning air flowed through an open window and the sun had risen past the towering pines, allowing enough light they didn’t need a lamp.
He waited for her to settle on a bench and took a seat across from her. “I heard the end of what Pike said to you.”
She grimaced.
“Tell me how it started.”
Hesitation clouded her expression. She probably didn’t realize how very expressive her features were, how much she gave away. Because of this, he sensed how very upset she’d been.
“He accosted me at—”
“Accosted?” He flexed his right fist. His knuckles had bruised, but he should’ve hit Pike harder. Where he came from, accosting meant soliciting sexual favors.
She raised a hand in a weak gesture, as if say, moving along now. “At the rehearsal for tonight’s talent show. As the men were told to stay away, we thought we had the green to ourselves. I didn’t bring a parasol and the sun was too strong. Foolish, I know…I stood off to the side in the shade. The others were only perhaps twenty
yards away.”
Sam realized he’d clenched his jaw and tried to relax. Interrupting her wouldn’t get them to the meat of it any faster. He’d do better to hear her out.
“Pike spoke to me, announced to the group that he’d—” a pained expression creased her features “—staked his claim. On me. I denied it of course, but that’s how it all started.”
“So you left the rehearsal.”
“I did, but only because he put his grubby hands on my person.”
“He touched you?” Sam’s temper spiked and so did his volume. The fool deserved more than a split lip. “Where?”
The moment the question fell out of his mouth, he realized a fine city lady like Mrs. Brandt would never answer him, after all she’d used the word ‘accosted.’ If she did answer, it would certainly be a euphemism for a body part. If Pike had touched her nose or her wrist, she would’ve said so.
Sam’s attention remained fixed on her, or he might’ve missed the thinning of her lips. The woman apparently had no practical use for a poker face, because a parade of emotions flitted across her features as plain as day. Humiliation. Frustration. Anger. Helplessness. Embarrassment brought up the rear…she didn’t want to speak of it, not to him, anyway.
He wouldn’t press for details. Frankly, it didn’t matter where. The mere fact that Michael Pike—the bottom-feeding, low-down, good-for-nothin’ idiot—had touched her inappropriately and made her feel that barrage of unwelcome emotion was all the explanation Sam needed.
He leaned forward, slowly. No sense spooking her worse, so he fought to keep his voice calm. “I should’ve broken his jaw.”
She smiled ruefully but wouldn’t meet his gaze. There had to be more. He could feel it. He gave her several long moments with some fancy classical piano piece drifting on the breeze from the grandstand, but she didn’t continue.
“I noticed him with you on the square,” he told her, “and the moment you left for the Quarters, I knew something had gone very wrong.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’d just realized the foolishness of going home…I knew he wouldn’t leave me be. Especially not after he said…”
She shifted on the bench, obviously deliberating. Whatever Pickle Pike had said, it must’ve been bad. She didn’t need to rehash it. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but she spoke first.
“He told me I would give him favors, today, as the ‘buyer of the cow,’ he deserved ‘to sample the milk.’”
Afraid he’d scare her with the fury that no doubt registered on his face, he clamped a palm over his eyes and squeezed his pounding temples. A long moment passed. He’d kill Pike for treating Mrs. Brandt this way. Not only was it a gross miscarriage of the code of conduct they’d all agreed upon, but he’d offended a fine woman who deserved far better.
He’d take care of that later. Now, all that mattered was seeing Mrs. Brandt’s needs met, not just in the moment, but for tomorrow and next week. Things had to change around here, and the how of that pressing need had started to take shape in his mind.
He shifted on the hard chair and leaned a bit closer, waiting for her to meet his gaze.
She did so, with reluctance.
“What do you want to do ‘bout all this?”
Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Pardon me?”
“What do you want to do? Go back to Leadville to meet the train? If you do, all you need do is say so. I’ll see you back there safely. We can head out right now in my wagon if you don’t want to wait for the stagecoach.” He hated to see her leave Prosperity, but the choice had to be hers. “If you want to stay, us men can evict Pike.”
“You’re asking me what I want?” She’d fallen unnaturally still, her expressive face registering disbelief. And perhaps a bit of shock.
“Yes, ma’am. I am.”
“I’m so accustomed to being told what to do, to being at the mercy of my father’s dictate, I…I don’t know what to say.”
He waited, giving her time to think it through.
A long minute passed and she shrugged with uncertainty.
He’d offer up his ideas and give her a chance to accept his help. But first, he needed more information.
“That telegram arrived four days ago, so I figure you have your reasons for not responding.” He hoped she could see his honest desire to help. “I figure I’d have known if you posted a letter or sent a telegram order on the stage back to Leadville.”
A brief nod, then her posture wilted. “I should have sent word.”
“I figure you have your reasons.”
“Yes.” She held his gaze for the longest of moments, as if deep in thought.
“Why are you here?”
“Because,” she began, emotion straining her voice. She fought tears that pooled in her eyes. “This is better than the alternative.”
Did he want to hear this? Already, the rising need to act, to step in and defend and protect had crossed the line from Rule Enforcer and decent citizen to showing too much interest in one particular female.
But how could he turn his back on her now? She needed help.
A cool breeze from the open windows brushed past, almost a whisper. Female laughter carried from the square.
The brides wouldn’t return for a while yet.
Sam decided he could not withhold help, just because he’d proved himself too quick to get in over his head, a complete sucker for a fancy lady who wanted something from him.
He swallowed, shored up the defenses around his heart, and went all in. “Evelyn,” it seemed so right to use her given name, particularly now. “What alternative? What are you running from?”
“I am with child.”
Yeah, he could see that much. He merely nodded.
“I left my home in New York because my father sent me away.” She dropped her gaze, unable and maybe unwilling to look at him. “To San Francisco and my uncle’s residence.”
He could see just how hard this was for her to disclose. She trembled as she spoke but the tears had receded.
“My little sister, Mary Beth…” She spoke so softly he had to strain to hear. “Mary Beth died last year from a ruptured appendix. She’d been unable to keep anything down, so when I had similar symptoms, the help told my parents. They panicked, understandably, and summoned the doctor.” She sighed, seem to turn inward. “He confirmed my worst fear.”
It all fit together now. All this talk about her parents, no mention of a husband, deceased or otherwise. Oh, how well he knew the crazy things high society folks did to ensure nothing tarnished their good names. That had to be what she meant about her parents sending her away.
“I hadn’t known, not for certain, nor did I want to believe I was with child, until the doctor examined me and announced his diagnosis.”
Sam swallowed hard. She looked up, met and held his gaze. Obviously searching his expression for something, probably a tell of some kind, but what?
If she thought she’d get a judgment from him, she’d have to wait a very long time. He tried to let her read the truth in his eyes, to feel his sincerity. No judgment, no doubt, no cynicism.
This pot would not call the kettle black.
He understood and couldn’t blame her. Hadn’t he found himself charging over the edge of sanity, caught up in a disastrous plunge off a metaphorical waterfall of epic heights? He’d been so in love with Octavia, when she’d crooked her finger, pulled him into the carriage house, kissed him with the passion he’d craved…
Oh, yeah. He knew how easily boundaries swept aside beneath the tide of passion. Giving in to Octavia had been one of his greatest mistakes blended with one of the most beautiful memories of his life—for those few, blessed moments, she’d actually wanted him. So he’d done the honorable thing and proposed marriage while she was still in his arms, desperate and hopeful she’d accept.
Looking back, he understood he’d not been Octavia’s first, though she’d led him to believe so. And still, he’d wanted to keep her. Forever.
&
nbsp; He made himself focus on Evelyn. Sweet, beautiful Evelyn, her softly rounded belly somehow enhancing her beauty.
Who was he to pass judgment, when he’d done the same?
She seemed to search for words. “I needed my parents more than ever. I needed their help, their understanding, but what did they do? They sent me away on the first possible train.” Emotion thickened her voice. “Neither said goodbye. They communicated arrangements through the help. Father’s driver dropped me off at the station. I was angry.”
Sam swore under his breath. He understood far too well how that show of disappointment coupled with disapproval stung. From the pain lining her beautiful features, he could see how their rejection had hurt.
Ultimately, Evelyn and he were too much alike in their need to feel that unconditional, unwavering love from those closest to them.
Maybe he could be the one to give it to her.
The thought startled him and sharpened his focus.
“I’m not married and never have been,” she said softly.
Sam merely nodded. Yeah, he’d figured as much, from everything she’d just confided. He offered a sad smile, just so she understood he’d heard but wouldn’t criticize.
“It seems I’ve acted impulsively twice. First, to find myself in this circumstance at all, and second, the day I stepped off that train.” Her expression clouded over, pinched with pain. “My parents sent me away to give birth in California, where the child would be adopted by two parents, an ‘upstanding couple,’ as my father put it.”
Sam’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “Is that what you want?”
She held his gaze. “I want to keep my baby.” That simple sentence carried such certainty, more conviction and determination than most people could muster. He found he respected her for it.
He understood on a gut-wrenching, fundamental and primal level exactly what it felt like to part with someone precious, when all the heart wanted was to keep them near. To him, it all made glorious sense. “That’s why you got off the California-bound train.”
She nodded.
“The baby’s father?” He had to ask. He’d watched Octavia closely for months afterward, terrified and yet hopeful she’d show signs she carried his child. Nothing had ever come of it. But he’d wanted to know, he’d deserved to know.