by Pam Crooks
“We’ve had precious little sleep, and our tempers are showing it, I’m afraid,” she said quietly.
“I’m not so tired that I couldn’t make love to you all over again,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “And I could fight the whole town for you, too, if I had to. Which I probably will.” Still, he pressed a quick conciliatory kiss to her mouth. “Now, climb up. Let’s get it over with.”
The front door flew open. Chat lifted her skirts and rushed down the steps toward them. By the time she reached the rig, Lark was already in the wagon seat.
“I’m sorry, you two,” Chat said, hustling around to the far side. Ross swung into place on the other, leaving Lark in the middle. “I never expected you’d insist upon going to work this morning. Of all things, Lark! And with Catfish Jack still on the loose, too.”
“I’ve already had this discussion with your brother,” she said, scooting closer to him to give Chat room. “It’s something I need to do.”
“Well, you have more courage than I would,” Chat said. Ross slapped the reins against the horses’ backs, and the rig lurched forward. She gripped the seat for balance. “Ross, you’re not going to just let her fend for herself, are you? What if Catfish attacks her again?”
“I’ll be staying at the bank with her,” he said. “She needs watching, for sure.”
Lark rolled her eyes at Chat. “And I don’t want him there. Try to talk some sense into him, won’t you?”
Jaw agape, Chat leaned around Lark toward Ross. “You’re staying at the bank? The whole day through?” She turned her surprise back to Lark. “Oh, my.”
“Preposterous, isn’t it?” Lark asked.
“He must be really worried about you.” Chat’s voice had lowered. “He despises banks.”
Lark recalled he’d declared as much that afternoon in his workshop, a couple of days previous. She found it as perplexing now as she did then.
He sat with his knees spread, his elbows propped on his broad thighs while he kept a hold on the reins. The butt of his Colt pressed into her hip, a cold reminder of why it was there.
“I’ll take you to Sarah’s first,” he said to Chat, perusing the outskirts of Ida Grove sprawled straight ahead. “I want you to stay there after you tend to your business at the dairy. I’ll pick you up as soon as the bank closes.”
“All right,” she said.
“I prefer to walk to work from the boardinghouse,” Lark said, firm. “It’s what I always do. I’m sure Mrs. Kelley won’t mind if you park the wagon there for the day.”
Ross glanced at her with a nod. “If that’s what you want.”
She took comfort in her small victory and sat quietly beside him as they drew ever closer to the township. Never once since she’d arrived in Ida Grove had she left its boundaries, and it seemed like forever ago that Father Baxter had spirited her away to Ross’s for safekeeping.
So much in her life had changed since then.
And yet, so much remained the same, she mused, her gaze taking in the rolling farmland that sprawled around her. Acres of corn, wheat and oats thrived, as they always did, under the indulgent Iowa sun. Cows and horses grazed, chickens squawked, children played. Life went on around her, oblivious to her troubles with Catfish Jack. The thought left her feeling small and unimportant.
The buckboard rumbled into town and turned onto Main Street. Businesses were just beginning to open for the day. Only a scattering of people populated the boardwalks, and they glanced toward the rig with unabashed curiosity.
That would change as the morning wore on. Her sudden reappearance after her attack, with the Santanas, no less, would set speculation afire, which made her need to speak to Mr. Templeton before the gossip did all the more imperative.
As if she read Lark’s thoughts, Chat took her hand and squeezed in encouragement.
“Try not to worry,” she said. “This will all blow over soon. You’ll be old news in no time.”
“Old news,” Lark said with a faint smile and slid her palm onto Ross’s muscled thigh for extra reassurance. “Not hardly, I’m afraid, but I’ll hope anyway.”
If Chat was surprised at the boldness of Lark’s touch, she didn’t show it. Ross had left his bedroom this morning before Chat rose. She wouldn’t know of the intimacies he’d shared with Lark, but even if she did, it wouldn’t matter. Lark already felt like she belonged with him.
Which was foolish and hopeless and made leaving him all the more difficult.
Ross pulled up in front of Kelley’s Boardinghouse and set the brake. He dismounted from the driver’s seat and assisted Lark down. Chat fended for herself from the other side.
“Do you want to go in?” he asked Lark quietly. “Mrs. Kelley will want to know where you’ve been.”
“No,” Lark said. She’d have to face her eventually, but the dear woman would fuss and ask an endless list of questions. Besides, she’d be serving breakfast to the rest of her boarders about now. Lark had no desire to face them all. “I don’t want to be late in arriving at the bank.”
“I’ll tell her you’re safe and that you’ll explain later,” Chat said, reaching into the wagon bed for her basket of eggs and butter crocks. “She’ll be so relieved, you know, but she’ll just have to wait to find out what happened.”
“Thank you.”
“Be discreet, Chat,” Ross warned.
“I will, I will.” Chat hugged him with one arm, did the same to Lark. “Everything will turn out fine. You’ll see. Ross is the absolute best. He won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I know.”
But he’d be powerless against Mr. Templeton’s disappointment in her. Nor would he be able to save her job if she was fired. And since she was absolutely certain Catfish Jack wouldn’t show his homely face in the bank, Ross’s presence there was moot.
Chat bounded up the stairs and disappeared inside the boardinghouse, giving Lark one last chance to convince him to return home without her.
“I know you hate banks,” she began. “So, really, there’s no point in you accompanying me this morning.”
He took her elbow, turned her firmly toward Main Street. The Ida Grove Bank was located several blocks down. “My opinion of them doesn’t matter in your situation, and you know it.”
“But if it makes you uncomfortable to be there, then why go?”
They stepped off the boardwalk into the dirt street. “You know that, too.”
She heaved an ungracious sigh and gave up. “If you embarrass me today, Ross Santana, I shall never forgive you.”
His dark brows pulled together. “Is that what you’re worried about? That I’ll embarrass you?”
“You can be quite gruff at times.”
“Yeah?” But he didn’t sound concerned by it.
They strode onto the next block’s walkway. Their footsteps scuffed against the wooden planks.
“I don’t want you to scare away the bank’s patrons,” she said.
“Long as they don’t need scaring, I won’t.”
The door to Al Asher’s Broom Shop stood open, and she noticed him already at work inside. He grew his own broomcorn, and the quality of the bristles was excellent. Al was blind, however, and appeared absorbed in what he was doing. She refrained from calling out her usual greeting.
“Just try to look as if you’re not there,” she said with a definite plea in her voice. They walked past the bicycle repair shop, still closed from the weekend.
“I’m the only one-eyed bounty hunter in town,” he said drily. “Folks can’t help but notice me.”
“That’s not what I meant. Find a dark corner somewhere and don’t come out.”
He had the audacity to look amused. “Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings, Lark, darlin’.”
She barely heard him. Her attention snagged on two women just ahead, waiting for Harrington’s Clothing and Furnishing Goods to open for the day.
And they were staring with clearly-surprised expressions at Lark and Ross.
&nbs
p; His amusement faded. “Looks like the hen fest has begun. Who are they?”
A shiny, late-model runabout turned in front of them. Ross took advantage of the diversion to cross to the other side of Main Street. She quickened her step to keep up with his long-legged stride.
“The tall one is Rachael Brannan. Her husband, Thomas, is an attorney-at-law,” Lark said. Was it just her imagination or could she feel those ladies boring holes at her back? “The other is Georgiana Schwartz. J.T. Schwartz is the Secretary of the School Board.” And instrumental in the building of a half-dozen schools in the area.
Prominent wives of prominent townsmen. Her pulse dipped at the wealth and power they wielded in their little town, and they would most certainly want to know who had attacked Lark in her sleeping room. And why.
“I’ve heard of them. Nothing but a couple of starched-up Presbyterians,” Ross muttered.
“Unfortunately, yes,” she said, thinking of the time Mrs. Schwartz threw a full-blown tantrum when Mrs. Pankonin made an error on her account. Mr. Templeton had fallen all over himself trying to soothe her outraged feathers and made the correction himself. Afterward, he’d scolded Mrs. Pankonin soundly for her mistake.
“Ignore ’em.”
One more block until they reached the Ida Grove Bank. Ross and Lark stepped onto the boardwalk that ran in front of the Hungry Horse.
The saloon stood starkly silent. A black wreath hung on the door, announcing Eb Sumner’s loss. Lark’s heart constricted. If folks hadn’t already heard of Jo-Jo’s killing, the wreath would spread the word in a hurry.
They passed the cigar store, crossed the street, and met the delicate aroma of baking pies and pastries from Nell’s Bakery. Another day, Lark would have stopped in for a slice of molasses gingerbread or a fried apple fritter to savor with a hot cup of coffee, but not this morning. She didn’t have the stomach for it.
The bank was right next door. She retrieved the key from her dress pocket and fumbled the metal against the lock. It refused to give. Ross’s fingers closed over hers, and she stopped trying.
“Your hand is shaking,” he said, leaning toward her. He maneuvered the thing just fine, and the door swung open.
“I’m not normally such a coward.” She frowned and soaked in the comfort of his nearness.
“You’re nervous,” he said. He nudged her inside and closed the door behind them, then turned the lock, immersing them in the silence of the lobby’s cool, dim interior. He pulled her against him, one strong arm at her waist, inadvertently pressing the buckle of his holster into her belly. “Just say the word, and I’ll talk to Templeton for you.”
His offer moved her. Made her wish it could be that easy. “Don’t ask me twice, Santana.”
“I will, if it’ll make you feel better,” he insisted.
His mouth hovered over hers, their breaths mingling. How strange to be here with him, just the two of them, on the verge of a stolen kiss. He suspended her in time, helped her forget, if only for a moment…
The sudden, persistent banging on the window sent Lark leaping away with a startled cry. Her gaze jerked to the door.
“See who it is,” Ross ordered. He stepped back into the shadows, one hand on the butt of his Colt.
She peeked through the blinds. “It’s Mrs. Pankonin.”
“Who’s she?”
“Our head cashier. She’s not usually this early.”
Lark dreaded having to deal with the woman’s jealous antagonism, but she had little recourse but to let her in. Mrs. Pankonin burst through the doors, a whirlwind of curiosity and indignation.
“It’s true! It is you!” she exclaimed, jaw agape, staring at Lark as if she’d sprouted a second head.
Lark secured the lock again.
“Yes,” she said carefully. “It’s me.”
“I just talked with Georgiana Schwartz and Rachael Brannan. They said it was. I didn’t believe it.”
“Well, now you can.” Lark forced a smile and pivoted to step around her, but Mrs. Pankonin would have none of it. She grasped Lark’s arm firmly.
“Is it true you were attacked in your sleeping room and then you escaped?” she demanded.
Lark drew in a breath. “I’m afraid so.”
“Why?” Mrs. Pankonin demanded. “Who attacked you? Why did he attack you? And where have you been?”
Ross stepped out of the shadows, and Mrs. Pankonin whirled with a shriek, as if she thought Ross intended to attack her. Or intended to rob them clean.
“What are you doing in here?” Her skin had paled to chalk-white. Recognition dropped her jaw again. “You’re Ross Santana, aren’t you? Chat Santana’s brother. You’re the—” aghast, she whirled back toward Lark “—bounty hunter. He’s a bounty hunter, Miss Renault!”
“I know,” she said.
He looked frightening, she had to admit. Dark and shadowed. Armed and dangerous, and in spite of everything, she was glad he’d given Mrs. Pankonin a good scare.
The woman took a quick step toward Lark and clutched her arm, as if to use her as a shield if Ross should decide to inflict bodily harm upon her person.
“You shouldn’t be in here, Mr. Santana,” she said. “It’s highly irregular. Mr. Templeton would be most upset if he knew you were, so, please, if you will. Leave.”
“I don’t believe he’ll go,” Lark said.
Mrs. Pankonin pinched her lips together and glared at her in disapproval. “We’ll be opening the bank in a few minutes time. He must step outside until we are prepared to accept customers. You are aware of the rules, Miss Renault.”
“Rules are meant to be broken,” Ross said amiably. “I assure you I won’t bother you as you go about your duties.”
Mrs. Pankonin let go of Lark’s arm, but she eyed him with beady-eyed suspicion. “Why are you here?”
“Mr. Santana is a friend—” Lark hastily began.
“—and my being with her is none of your business,” Ross finished.
Delicate blue veins bulged in Mrs. Pankonin’s throat. “In that, you are wrong, Mr. Santana. As head cashier for this fine institution, it is, indeed, my business.” She drew herself up in imperious disdain. “Very well, then. You may stay. But Mr. Templeton will be informed that his perfect little employee was entertaining a male friend of questionable reputation before bank hours in his absence.”
“‘Entertaining’?” Lark repeated with growing pique. “‘Questionable reputation’?”
“You heard me correctly, Miss Renault.” Mrs. Pankonin spun on her heel and strode across the lobby, her heels a brisk staccato of righteousness against the polished marble floor.
Lark glowered at the woman’s narrow back. It’d be a cold day in hell before she’d give the old shrew the satisfaction of talking to Mr. Templeton first. He valued honesty and forthrightness, and she vowed that he’d learn the truth from her first before hearing it sullied from Mrs. Pankonin.
“Go on about your work, darlin’,” Ross said quietly. “If she harasses you, just tell her to shut up. I’ll make sure she does.”
Exasperated, Lark turned toward him. “She’s my superior, Ross,” she whispered, to keep her voice from carrying. “I’ll do no such thing. And neither will you.”
“The offer’s there.” He tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. “Don’t fret over her. She’s not worth it.”
Easy for him to say, Lark worried as she hurried toward her desk to put her lunch in its usual place in the drawer. He didn’t have to work with her every day.
Lark would just have to make the best of the situation. Mrs. Pankonin would get over her peevishness eventually, just like she always did when Lark made her jealous about something. It wouldn’t be the first time the old witch tattled on her, either.
All that mattered was Mr. Templeton and his opinion of her.
And he expected her to have his bank open for business within minutes. Mrs. Pankonin already had the vault and strong boxes unlocked and a stack of bills ready to sort into trays. Lark bu
sied herself by readying a pot of coffee for him, so that it’d be fresh and hot by the time he arrived. She watered the plants in his office, opened the blinds and cracked the window. He’d appreciate the cool breeze as he sat at his desk throughout the day.
She’d already tidied the lobby before leaving on Friday. All that remained was to turn on the overhead lights, part the drapes on the tall windows and unlock the door. At Mrs. Pankonin’s nod, signaling the teller’s cash drawers were ready, Lark headed toward the front of the bank to do all those things, glancing at the clock along the way.
Ten o’clock, straight up.
In that regard, at least, the morning had started out just as it should.
With the place bright and ready for business, Lark returned her key for safekeeping in Mr. Templeton’s office. Ross, she noted, sat in a chair on the far side of the lobby, one ankle crossed on his knee, absorbed in last week’s edition of the Ida County Pioneer.
He looked like any other bank patron catching up on the local news. Not even Mrs. Pankonin could complain he looked conspicuous, and vastly relieved, Lark strode to her desk, picked up her pencil and opened the daily ledger.
The front door opened. Automatically, she glanced up, anticipating the first bank patron of the day.
Her pulse leapt.
Mr. Templeton had arrived.
Chapter Fifteen
“Good morning, Miss Renault,” he said. He walked with a definite snap in his step, a sign he was in a hurry to get to his office.
“Good morning, sir.” Lark half rose in her chair, her mouth open to tell him she’d like to speak with him at his earliest convenience, but he was past her before she could.
She sat back down again.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pankonin.” Courteous to a fault, he duplicated the greeting without quite looking at her, which is how he tended to look at her most days, even when he wasn’t rushed.
“Mr. Templeton.” The woman gave him a tight smile, which of course, he didn’t see. “If I could have a moment of—”
His hand lifted in acknowledgement. “Certainly, Mrs. Pankonin, but later, if you will. I’m expecting an important client shortly, and I’ve some papers to prepare before he arrives.”