* * *
Dillon trudged through the town streets, stopping briefly to help Mrs. Olsen into her buggy. Then he went into the general store. Mrs. Johnson greeted him warmly, as she always did. After all, Dillon was the richest man in town. And, he’d been splurging more since he’d gotten hitched.
“How nice to see you, Dillon.” Her wrinkled face split into a smile.
“Hello, Mrs. Johnson. I wanted to check and see how that gift for Caitlin was coming along?”
“Oh, splendid, just splendid. Wait until you see it.” She went around the counter, motioning him to follow.
When they came out from the back room, Mr. Mosely was waiting at the counter. If Dillon had been back there with anyone else, it might have looked improper, and been topic of town gossip for months. However, Mrs. Johnson was old enough to be his grandmother. Besides, he’d just married that pretty little Gallagher girl. There was no reason for him to be looking elsewhere.
“Dillon, how are you?” Mr. Mosely tipped his hat.
“I’m fine, sir. And how about you?”
“As well as can be expected. You know this cold weather makes my bones ache.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I will remember to keep that in my prayers.”
“No need, son. God already knows what’s ailing me. But thanks for the gesture, just the same.” Holding up the folded paper he asked. “Since when do you waste time writing about things like the social?”
“’Tis only an idea I’m trying out, a new column announcing social activities.”
“Seems there’s plenty to write about that’s more important.”
“Yes, sir.” Dillon hid his humor. “’Twas Caitlin’s idea. I am letting her try a hand at writing.”
“That doesn’t seem quite proper.” The lines in his face set in a deep frown.
“There are plenty of women writers. Did you find something wrong with how she writes?” Dillon crossed his arms.
“No. The writing was fine. ‘Tis just that a wife’s place is in the home, taking care of the young’ uns and all.” He fidgeted under Dillon’s watchful gaze.
“We have only been married a few months. We do not have any children yet.” Dillon uncrossed his arms, smiling in his easy manner. “However, I will keep you advice under recommendation when we do have little ones running around.”
Mr. Mosely smiled. “Yes. Yes. Of course, guess it won’t hurt nothing to let the little wife do some writing until the babies came.”
Dillon bid his farewells and headed back to the shop. The jingling of the bell irritated him every time he opened the door, but he was tired of Henrietta sneaking up on him. And, after she read the paper, he was positive she would be by.
“Good night, boss.”
“Good night, Johnny.” Dillon watched him cross the street, then went back to checking the invoices.
A few minutes later the bell warned him of company, a very unhappy, highly emotional guest.
“How could you?” Henrietta’s advance was swift and agitated. “That was my article, and you published it under your wife’s name.”
Dillon stood, grateful the desk blocked any further advancement.
“You’re a prig! A no good thief. And believe me you’ll have the devil to pay.”
“Henrietta, will you calm down?” His loud voice out matched her whiny pitch. “That is not the piece you wrote. I have not stolen anything.”
“Just because your little wife rewrote my article, doesn’t make it hers. That was my idea. My words. And you had no right stealing it from me.”
“I admit the idea was yours. But, Caitlin did more than switch a few words. She completely rewrote the whole thing using her own words.”
“It didn’t need any rewriting.”
“It needed a writers’ touch.” Dillon tried to be gentle, but had to be honest.
“And that was your wife?” The disgust in her voice spilled out.
“Caitlin is a very accomplished writer.”
“What has she ever written?”
Dillon felt the trap, and wasn’t about to fall into it. “She wrote the article on the social.”
“My article. Has she ever written anything of her own? Or, does she merely steal other people’s writings?”
“I will not argue this point any more. I am sorry if you’re upset, but I have done nothing wrong.” Dillon took his stand, arms behind his back.
Henrietta paused a moment. She loved that particular stance. The white, linen shirt fit snug across his chest, detailing his strong arms. His broad shoulders pulled back like a general in command. It was an all-powerful, take charge pose that sent her pulse racing.
Although his brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, some strands hung loose, curling around his angled face, softening his deep set brown eyes, which were hard with anger. Her eyes lowered to his lips. His, dark, full lips may have been set in a harsh line, but she assumed they were tender when kissed.
If only I could get him to change his mind, she desperately thought. She would give anything to feel those strong arms circled around her. His soft lips pressed to hers. However, he had humiliated her more than once. Having thrown herself at him, only to be refused. The sting sharpened when he turned to Caitlin.
“Dillon.” She softened her tone, rounding the desk, and laying a gloved hand on his chest. Pressing her body close to him, she tried physical persuasion to get the answers she desired. “Why won’t you confide in me?” She lowered her lashes over her hazel eyes, feigning hurt. “You know I forgive you for the article. I have not told a soul. Yet, you refuse to reveal the source of your anonymous writer.”
“Why are you so intent on prying it from me?”
“Why are you so secretive?”
“Because it’s none of your business.” Grabbing her wrist, he jerked it off his chest, flinging her arm down. “An editor never reveals his sources.”
“The whole town knows that Caitlin wrote it,” she said, rubbing her bruised wrist.
“I do not care what the town thinks. ‘Tis all speculation.”
“You’ll pay for this, Dillon.” Henrietta spit in his face, turned on her heel and marched out the door. The jingling bell, angrily echoing each footstep.
* * *
Outside the cold night air tugged at her long, fur lined pelisse. Henrietta paid no notice. Her thoughts were on Dillon, Caitlin and revenge. Stepping off the wooden boardwalk, she rounded the white-washed buildings lined up along Main Street. The brisk pace was out of sheer anger more than fear of the stranger following her. Finally catching up to her, he grabbed her upper arm brining her to a halt.
“Where are you dashing off to in an all fired hurry?”
Yanking her arm away from his grasp she replied, “I suppose you heard that.”
His dark mustache twitched. “I didn’t hear much. The window was closed and you were too far away.”
“I couldn’t sneak you in because of that bell above the door. Besides, he didn’t reveal his source.”
“That leaves us back at square one.”
“Correction. That leaves you back at square one.” She lifted her blue skirts and started walking away.
“I’ll get him, Henrietta. Then you’ll have to pay.”
She stopped short. Her head snapping up. She turned, a seductive smile playing on her lips. “’Tis not Dillon you are after. It’s his wife, Caitlin.”
“I am after whoever is committing treason.” His teeth gleamed from under the handlebar mustache. “I will be collecting my payment when the job is done.”
Her smile faltered under his cold, dark gaze. However, she kept the bravado up. “You shall be collecting nothing if you do not get Caitlin Cade out of my way.”
“I figured this was a personal matter. I hate to interfere with your plans, but it looks like your beloved will be going to jail.”
“My plans and my reasons are none of your business. If you want me to follow through with my end of the bargain, then you’ll do as I say.”
The tall, stranger stepped closer, his boots crunching the dirt with each eerie step. His dark, menacing glance, piercing through her, “I am the one in charge and I will call the shots.” Brushing right past her as if she weren’t standing there, he continued down the alley.
* * *
“The house is coming along splendidly.” Dillon ran his hand along the wooden mantel. “I especially love this fireplace.” The picture of Jesus and the Last Supper, imprinted in plaster on the front of the mantel was gilded in gold.
“Do you truly like it?” This fireplace in the sitting room was her pride and joy.
“Aye. I believe even Thomas Jefferson will envy it.”
“Truly?”
“You did a wonderful job designing it. I’m very proud of you.” Dillon watched as the flickering firelight brought out the gold leaf pattern imprinted on the cream wallpaper. “The cost is well worth it. That look in your eyes is all the reward I need.”
“Oh, Dillon.” Caitlin encircled his waist. “You are too good to me.”
“I told you price was not an option. Money will never be an object to stand in the way of your happiness.”
Caitlin’s unexpected withdrawal left him dumbfounded. “Is something the matter?”
She shook her, but paced a few steps away.
“Caitlin?” Dillon cautiously approached, gently turning her to face him, he felt his heart stop when he saw the tears shimmering in her eyes. “What is the matter? Did I say something to upset you?”
“Nay, my lord.” She smiled. “I am not sure why I feel so weepy all of a sudden. ‘Tis really not like me.”
“I know. Tell me what is the matter.”
“I do not want you to think I’m after your money. That I am only here because of what you can give me.” She looked him in the eyes. “I do not want you to feel that I am using you.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. Why is it every time she cried, he thought she would leave? “I would never feel that way. I am amazed that you have come to love me at all. Our circumstances for marriage were not made out of love. I feared you would hate me for the rest of your life. The idea of having a true marriage with a happy home is beyond my expectations. You have never once taken advantage of the situation. Always asking before you made any purchase, even seeking permission for this fireplace because it would cost a great deal.”
“That was Mr. Barclay’s idea,” she confessed.
“My point being this.” He took both of her hands in his. “I freely give you anything you want out of love. It is my gift to you. I expect nothing in return. I harbor no ill will or regrets when you purchase things that make you happy.”
“’Tis my point.” She withdrew her hands from his grasp, smoothing the front of her blue, linen gown. “You make it sound as though I need money and things to be happy.” Her jaw set in a tight line. “I do not. I grew up with enough money to be comfortable and more than enough love to be rich.”
“I fear we come from different circumstances. I grew up with a minimal amount of love, and as much money as royalty. I am sorry if I have offended you. It’s just that money is all I knew as a child. ‘Tis the only way I know to show love.”
“I only want you to realize that you offer me much more than money. Your wealth is not the reason I love you.”
“No amount of money in the world could compare with the joy I feel at those tender words.” Dillon swallowed the lump in his throat.
“That is what I mean. Why would I care about money when you make me feel so cherished?” Caitlin went into his embrace, tenderly touching his cheek. “You treat me as if I were a queen, even when I was so angry at you.” Fighting the tears in her eyes she added, “What right do I have being married to someone so wonderful?”
“That, my dear, is the same question I ask myself.” Dillon kissed her. A slow tender kiss that melted her on the spot.
Caitlin broke the kiss. “I cannot believe you would even think that after the way I treated you so unfairly.”
“’Twas not your fault. You were put in a impossible situation.” He kissed her again. “The past does not matter. We need only look to the future.” His lips traveled down her neck.
“Aye.” Closing her eyes, she surrendered to his kiss. She suddenly withdrew from the kiss again. “I almost forgot. I have a special present for you.”
“I would rather be kissing you than opening a gift.”
“It is in the downstairs parlor.” She took his hand and led him through the halls.
Upon entering the room Dillon stopped short, staring at a picture of a young woman that was now placed above the fireplace.
“Do you like it?” Caitlin asked.
“Wherever did you find that?”
“In the attic. I knew instantly ‘twas your mother. You look a lot like her.”
“She was quite beautiful.” He sounded choked up.
“I hope you don’t mind that I hung it up.”
“The gesture was most gracious.” Dillon kissed her. “’Tis just that I have not seen her face in a long time.”
“Why did you have her portrait stored away?”
“I am not sure.” He sighed. “It just hurt too much remembering.”
“Do you want to take it down?”
“Nay. I like being able to see my mother now. In an odd way it almost feels like she is here with us.”
“I am sure she is watching over you from heaven.”
* * *
Whistling happily as he tethered his horse to the wooden hitching post, Dillon patted his steed on the neck. “That’s a good boy.” Jumping up the few wooden steps, he opened the door to his shop, still whistling.
Not even the gray, dreary weather could dampen his spirits. The Lord had been good to him. Abundantly better than he deserved. The newspaper subscriptions were up to one hundred and ten. He had a beautiful wife, who seemed to be warming up to the idea of marriage more every day.
And, although he was not a materialistic man, he had money, land and a nice house. Even that had been made better by the entrance of Caitlin. The house was transforming into a pleasant palace. Soon it really would be a Regal Hall. He preferred coming home to the lively, warm and cozy atmosphere that Caitlin produced, as opposed to the empty, drafty and dreary shell that he once called home.
No matter how many good things Dillon could name, there seemed to be a needling in the back of his mind, as if life were a little too perfect. The fear that something could go wrong seemed to intensify. Where did this fear come from? Perhaps from when he was a boy.
He remembered filling that same kind of contentment when he was young. As a child he had everything he ever wanted. Life was happily humming along. Then his mother was killed and everything came to a screeching halt. His secure life had been shattered.
Dillon had not thought about his mother in years. He seemed to be thinking about her more and more since marrying Caitlin. He smiled at the remembrance of always feeling loved by his mother. He had been the center of her universe. That spot only being shared with his father.
Although they were upper class people, his mother never looked down on the lower classes. She used to say that God loved everyone, no matter how much money they made. She even helped several families find jobs and get suitable housing. His mother’s heart had been too big to be confined to one social class.
Caitlin reminded him of his mother, although not in looks or temper. His mother had been sweet, demure, and submissive. Even though Caitlin did not possess those qualities, she had a light that shined brighter than the sun. Her love was all-consuming, and her confidence all-powerful and she made him feel loved. He felt certain his mother would have approved of Caitlin.
Dillon sifted through a few letters on his desk, but couldn’t seem to switch his mind to work this morning. The comparisons between his wife and mother kept running through his head. Eventually his thoughts settled on how beautiful Caitlin looked when she slept. Her hair splayed out like a fire in the night, and her bare shoulder
gleaming in the moonlight.
The ringing bell drew his attention from his bride to the door. He watched as a tall, wide-shouldered man crossed the floor.
Dillon stood and rounded the desk, positioning himself in front of it. “How may I help you?”
“Sheriff Edward.” He tapped the badge on his chest; not liking the fact that Dillon did not seem intimidated by him. “I’m looking for Dillon Cade.”
“’Tis I.” Dillon worked hard to conceal his emotions. However his gut tightened, his worst fear coming true.
“I’m afraid I have to place you under arrest.” The sheriff held up a newspaper. “This here article gives me cause to arrest you for treason.” His black mustache twitched under his grin.
Chapter 15
Caitlin paced in front of the fireplace. Each agitated step thundering against the hardwood flooring. Every couple of steps she stopped to brush out the wrinkles in her gray gauze gown, or push a loose pin back to hold her curl.
She’d received the missive two days past, only one day after Dillon had been arrested. Her mind already abuzz with worry over Dillon, how was she expected to deal with the arrival of his parents?
A commotion in the hallway caused her to stop. She sucked in a breath through parched lips. A moment later the butler stood in the door frame, his long, angular body casting shadows over the walls and floor. “The stable boys have returned, ma’am. There wasn’t a sign of Lord Cade.”
The Unwilling Bride Page 23