Golden State Brides

by Keli Gwyn

  Sheriff Henderson removed his hat and rubbed a sleeve across his grimy forehead. “He could use a friend, if you’re so inclined. He’s not far behind me.”

  The sheriff left, and Mr. Rutledge crested the hill. He plodded toward her with his head down, looking more careworn than she’d ever seen him. His white shirt appeared gray, and his collar had come unfastened on one side. He’d dashed off without his hat, and his hair was a mess. Despite his disheveled condition, he was a welcome sight.

  Her feet carried her forward as though of their own accord. She reached him and offered her hand. He closed his around it. Wordlessly they continued down the street. When they reached the church, she tugged him toward it. He opened the door Mr. Parks insisted never be locked and followed her inside. She led him to the front pew.

  Once seated he looked at their hands, still joined. He gave hers a squeeze, released it, and directed his attention at some point near his scuffed, water-stained boots. The scent of smoke clung to him, overpowering all else. He crushed something in his teeth. A lemon drop most likely. “Why did you come for me?”

  “I thought you could use a friend.”

  “A friend?” He ran his thumbs and forefingers down the crisp creases in his trousers. “Are we friends, Ellie?”

  The sadness in his voice pierced her heart. “Of course.”

  “Mother told you?”

  “Some, yes. I’m so sorry. That must have been dreadful.”

  His upper body shook, as did his voice. “It was the darkest day of my life.”

  Her breath froze in her throat, and she waited for him to continue.

  Seconds stretched into minutes as he fought for control. Clearly the fire had dredged up painful memories. How she longed to ease his burden.

  She swiveled toward him. He’d squeezed his eyes shut so tightly the adorable cleft between his brows was a canyon. She reached up and rubbed a finger over it. His eyes flew open—wide, wary…and winsome. A woman could lose herself in their deep blue depths. Were those flecks gold or green? She lowered her hand and leaned in for a closer look.

  He cupped the back of her head in his palm and pulled her to him.

  His mouth found hers, and she offered no resistance. He needed solace, and she couldn’t deny him. Not this time.

  The tender kiss ended almost before it began. He pulled back until he could see her.

  Certain her disappointment would show, she slammed her eyes shut.

  He claimed her lips once again, soft but seeking. She slid her arms around him and surrendered to the sensations surging through her. Every nerve in her body was alert, savoring the smooth fabric of his frock coat, the silkiness of his moustache against her skin…and the tart taste of lemon.

  All too soon he sat back, a crooked smile on his face.

  She’d succeeded in helping him. “You feel better, don’t you?”

  He chuckled. “That was rather…unusual.”

  As wonderful as it was to hear him laugh, she wouldn’t suffer in silence as she had when Jake said horrid things about her efforts to be a dutiful wife. “What’s so funny?”

  “That’s the last thing I’d have expected you to do. Not that I’m complaining, you understand?” His smile held no malice.

  “You weren’t finding fault with me?”

  He trailed a fingertip down her cheek. “Have I ever?”

  “You’ve done nothing but since the day I set foot in El Dorado, Mr. Rutledge.”

  He grasped her hands. “Ellie, I think it’s time you call me Miles.”

  “But that’s not proper. We’re not—”

  “Yes we are. Friends that is. You said so yourself. So say it. Please.”

  “Why is it so important to you?”

  “Because…” He pressed his lips together and gazed at the ceiling, as though debating how best to answer. When he looked into her eyes, his held warmth and sincerity. “Because I like it. That’s why.”

  “It’s a fine name. I like it, too…Miles.”

  Chapter 24

  Someday you two are going to play this piece without destroying its beauty. Let’s hope it happens in time for the concert.” Mr. Morton returned to his platform, gazed at the ceiling, and muttered what sounded like a prayer.

  Miles tucked his violin under his chin, tore his eyes from Ellie, who stood facing him, and watched the conductor.

  “We’ll begin with the third movement. Is everyone ready?” She nodded. Miles lifted his bow in a salute.

  Mr. Morton raised his baton, and the room grew quiet as the musicians got into position. On the downbeat they began.

  Miles attempted to divide his attention between watching his fingers and the sheet music, and casting glimpses at Mr. Morton and Ellie. Try as he might though, his gaze tended to linger too long on his pretty partner. He scrambled to find his place in the score. Again.

  This wouldn’t do. He’d simply have to memorize the concerto so he could feast his eyes on her while he played. When she was swept away by the piece, she looked more beautiful than ever. The way she swayed in time with the music. Her slender fingers moving over the strings with such precision. The curve of her lips—

  He lost his place entirely, and the orchestra stopped.

  Mr. Morton stepped from his platform once again, beckoned Miles and Ellie to come close, and addressed them in a tone that reminded Miles of an exasperated schoolmarm. “Have you two been practicing every day as I asked?”

  Ellie bobbed her head. “And I spend time each evening as well. I have the first movement memorized and am making good progress on the second.”

  Miles stifled a groan. Leave it to her to show him up.

  “That’s fine, Mrs. Watkins. But what’s happening with you, Miles? It’s not like you to lose your place.”

  “I practice. Just have a lot on my mind, I guess.”

  Ellie’s mouth twitched. She, of all people, should be able to understand how difficult it had been for him to concentrate since the fire. It was bad enough she’d seen him struggle to hold himself together, but she’d as good as invited him to kiss her. For the past two days he’d been able to think of little else.

  “Well, I need you to focus on your duet. The dialogue between your violins in this magnificent piece is intended to be fascinating—not frustrating.”

  “I’m afraid it’s my fault, Mr. Morton.”

  She’d done nothing wrong, so why was she taking responsibility?

  “The women and I have come up with some wonderful competitions for El Dorado Day, and I daresay Mr. Rutledge is preoccupied with those the men are planning for us.” She tossed him one of her saucy smirks, the kind that used to annoy him but now only served to draw attention to her lovely lips.

  The contests for the women had nothing to do with his inability to perform his part. He’d barely given them a thought. Perhaps this was her way of letting him know she planned to outshine him in that area as well. Not that he cared. Not anymore. If besting him in that made her happy, he was all for it. What mattered most was convincing her to stay in El Dorado.

  The rest of the practice passed quickly. He managed to play his part without making too many more mistakes. Ellie put her violin away and dashed out without a word to anyone—even him—taking the sunshine with her.

  Hank rested his cello on its side and made a beeline for Miles. “What’s with you tonight? I’ve never heard you miss as many notes. Judging by the lost-puppy look on your face when she scooted out of here, I’d say she’s the reason. Something happened after the fire, didn’t it? You haven’t been the same since.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Can’t fool me, Miles. I’ve known you too long. You told her about that day. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  Miles laid his violin in its case, clicked the latches closed, and faced his friend. “She knows enough. But she’s too smart to pry.”

  The windows, which he’d opened hours before to allow the room to cool, needed to be shut and the hall locked, but he had to get out of
there. “Tell Mr. Morton I’ll close up later, will you?”

  “You can’t hide from the past forever.” Hank plunked a hand on Miles’s shoulder. “One of these days you’ve got to stare it in the face, make your peace, and move on.”

  If his friend knew the ugly truth, he’d understand why revisiting that tragic time was impossible.

  Mrs. Rutledge settled on a stool and addressed the group of women who’d filled Watkins General Merchandise. “I have to agree with Elenora. Showcasing our men’s strengths is a sure way to guarantee that El Dorado Day will be a success.”

  One outspoken woman stepped forward. “Why should we go out of our way to make the men look good? I think it would be far more fun to see them struggle with tasks we’re more suited for. I can just see my Harvey trying to sew on a button.”

  Jane Abbott fidgeted.

  Elenora felt certain the young woman wanted to speak. “Miss Abbott, what are your thoughts?”

  She cast Elenora a grateful smile. “Since Sammy hasn’t asked permission to come courting yet, you might think I lack the experience to voice an opinion, but it would pain me to see any man shamed in front of the townspeople. I think Sammy would be more likely to show me respect if I did the same for him.”

  Elenora chose her words carefully. “We have no control over what the men do, but I know Mr. Rutledge has spent a great deal of time planning the competitions for us.”

  Mrs. Morton chuckled. “As taken as that man is with you, I doubt he’ll want to see you publicly disgraced. My husband said he’s never seen Mr. Rutledge fumble a piece the way he did last night. Seems he couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

  Since reflecting on the heart-stopping kiss he’d given her would cause heat to flood her cheeks, Elenora chose to leave the comment untouched. “Perhaps we can accomplish both goals. I know one chore we women perform that requires considerable strength. I don’t think a gentleman would feel his manliness was in jeopardy if we use it as one of our competitions, but you can be the judge.”

  She did her best to present the idea in a positive light, and the women quickly agreed that she’d come up with a clever contest. Talk turned to the second competition, and the room buzzed with several conversations. Elenora went behind the counter to jot down the suggestions.

  A shrill scream rang out followed by a chorus of shrieks.

  She wheeled around. Several women stood with their fingers pointed at the back of her shop. The unexpected sight made her skin crawl, but she did her best to remain calm. “It’s a rattlesnake, isn’t it?”

  “Get it!” someone cried.

  One woman swooned, and two others caught her.

  Elenora reached underneath the counter, grabbed her revolver, and took aim at the poisonous creature slithering across the floor. “Cover your ears.”

  Her first two shots missed. The third met with success.

  She resisted the urge to kick her toe on the floor. Surely with the amount of practice she’d had lately, she could do better than that. If someone tried to rob her and pulled a gun, she wouldn’t have time to fire three shots. She laid her revolver on the shelf beneath her cash drawer and looked up.

  Instead of the shaking heads and frowns she expected, the women’s mouths gaped. Mrs. Olds was the first to regain her speech. “How did you do that? You hit a moving target no bigger around than a broom handle.”

  Mrs. Rutledge beamed. “In all my years I’ve never seen such a feat, Elenora. Not by a man, and certainly not by a woman. Wait until the men hear about this.”

  The door to her shop flew open. Miles burst in, his revolver drawn. Sheriff Henderson and several of the other businessmen crowded into her small shop, weapons at the ready.

  Mrs. Rutledge rushed to her son’s side. “It’s all right. Elenora shot a rattlesnake.”

  The sheriff scanned the women’s faces, clomped to where the creature lay, and squatted. He turned and gave Elenora the widest smile she’d ever seen him wear. “I heard three shots. That right?”

  “It took me three, yes.”

  “You got it with only three shots? A snake so small its rattle only has two sections?” He stood. “Mrs. Watkins, what you did is amazing. I’ve half a mind to deputize you.”

  The straightforward lawman wasn’t one to tease a woman. The few words he’d managed to get out whenever he spoke to her had always been sincere. “You’re too kind, Sheriff.”

  Several of the men—and two brave women—examined the disgusting reptile. The woman who’d fainted revived when smelling salts were waved beneath her nose. A good quarter hour went by before the shop cleared.

  Elenora flopped onto one of the stools and stared at the damaged floorboards. Extending her lower lip, she blew out a breath, fluffing a few loose hairs. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the still air.

  What had she been thinking to go for her gun when she could have grabbed one of her shovels or hoes instead? Then again, they were in the back of the shop where the snake was, whereas she’d been in the front. Surely no one could question her choice to use the weapon at her disposal. She couldn’t very well have a rattlesnake loose in her shop, could she?

  Even so, her landlord would be livid if he saw the damage she’d caused. Mr. Steele had been none too happy about the front of the shop, but that wasn’t her fault. This was. Now she’d have to hire Mr. MacDougall to perform the repairs and bear the expense herself.

  Footfalls on the walkway roused her from her ruminations. Miles tromped through the open door, bearing boards under one arm and a bucket of tools in the other. “Heard you had some work that needs to be done.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. But I don’t expect you to do it.”

  “That’s what friends are for.” He flashed her a warm smile that drew her attention to his mouth and sent heat racing to her cheeks. “So, are you going accept my help?”

  “Yes, Miles, I am.”

  He ripped out the damaged sections of her floor, cut a length from one of the boards he’d brought, and wiggled it in place. Once he was satisfied with the fit, he produced a nail, set it with a tap, and pounded it in with two strikes of his hammer. My, but he was strong.

  She grabbed a fistful of nails from his bucket and passed them to him one at a time until he finished. He rose, dusted his hands, and surveyed his handiwork. “Good as new.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You know, Ellie, we make a good team.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Have you given any more thought to accepting my offer of a partnership? I can’t promise you everything Grayson can, but you wouldn’t need to uproot Tildy if you were to stay put.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about that, and I guess now’s as good a time as any.”

  His face fell. “From your serious tone it doesn’t sound like this bodes well for me. Should I sit?”

  “That’s a good idea.” She perched on one of the stools, and he took another. “In his last letter Mr. Grayson said I’m his first choice for partner. I know you don’t share my opinion of him, but he’s a kind and generous man. You haven’t forgotten what he did for Tildy, have you?”

  He gave a most ungentlemanly grunt. “How could I? Mother had to make padding to go inside the Stetson Tildy bought, and I had to punch holes in it and thread a leather chinstrap through them so she could keep the thing on her head. He could have given her something more practical—or at least found a hat that would fit her.”

  “You don’t have to sound so upset about it.”

  “He plans to take you and Tildy away from here, and I don’t like it.”

  He wanted her to stay and work with him, but how could she do that after everything that had taken place between them? Besides, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity of becoming half owner of a mercantile every bit as a successful as his, could she? Not unless he had a very good reason for her to turn it down. “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, you’re helping plan El Dorado Day. And you’re supposed to play a duet with me at the next co
ncert.”

  Her hope dissolved as quickly as a spoonful of sugar in a cup of hot tea. If he had feelings for her—lasting feelings—surely he would have said so. “You needn’t worry. I’ll honor my commitments. I told him I need time to think things over. I’m to receive a letter from him in a few weeks with more information. Recommendations and such.”

  “Not that you value my opinion, but things aren’t always what they seem. Take the Talbot twins for example. You seem convinced they’re trustworthy, but what would you say if you found out they were responsible for the fire at the Blackstones’ place?”

  “That’s a serious allegation. What evidence is there?”

  “Hank found the charred remains of a cigar in the field where the fire started, and they were seen in the area not long before the blaze began.”

  Why must he assume the worst where they were concerned? Elenora gritted her teeth. One. Two. Three. “Cigar smoke is strong, and I’ve never smelled it on them. And as to being seen, they live out that way.”

  “My point exactly. Make sure you know who deserves your trust, Ellie. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He grabbed his tools, stalked out of her shop, stormed across the street, and shut the door of the mercantile with such force she expected to hear the glass center shatter.

  His concern was touching, but he was wrong about the Talbots—and Mr. Grayson. And somehow she’d prove it to him.

  “Oh Mama! I’m so excited, I might pop. Do you think my gingerbread is as good as Mrs. Rutledge’s? She said no one will be able to tell a difference, and hers has always taken a prize.”

  “It’s delicious, dearest. I think you deserve a ribbon.” Elenora glimpsed her reflection in the looking glass on her shop wall, the one where Miles had tried out his comb. Despite his initial reluctance, he must like it, because she’d seen him use it several times. Hopefully he’d like the competitions that morning as well. She’d done her best to come up with two that would show the men in a favorable light. Convincing the women they’d be well received hadn’t been as difficult as she’d expected. They seemed to value her opinion.