by Pam Crooks
Lark bit her lip. The words to refuse simply wouldn’t form on her tongue.
The words to accept wouldn’t, either.
A sound from somewhere beyond the Visitors’ Room had Mr. Templeton straightening. His glance swung toward the door.
“I’ve brought someone to see you,” he said with a faint smile. “He’s grown tired of waiting, it seems.”
Again, hope surged through her, anticipation, too, and when Matron Wood opened the door, her gaze lifted to see a tall, fierce bounty hunter striding through.
It dropped to find Phillip Templeton instead.
He gaped at her, his eyes owlish behind the lenses of his spectacles. Suddenly and acutely aware of how she must look, a convict in her black-and-white-striped calico dress, Lark’s cheeks pinkened in embarrassment.
She didn’t feel this way with Mr. Templeton. Perhaps the surprise at seeing him had overridden it. But this little boy, who had idolized her, liked her, from the time he’d come to recognize who she was…
He must be very disappointed in what she’d become.
Yet he bolted toward her and flung his arms up to hug her with all the strength his frail frame could give.
“Lark, Lark! I thought you were dead!”
He spoke with his face pressed into her skirt, and she was sure she misunderstood. Her confused gaze darted to his father.
He nodded. “With all the talk about Jo-Jo’s killing, then Catfish Jack’s and with you running away, well, he’s believed the worst about you ever since, even though we tried to convince him otherwise. He’s been quite distraught, in fact.”
Though her heart melted, she tossed Mr. Templeton a “so-you-brought-him-here?” look. She bent down and scooped Phillip into her arms. He shifted his grip to her neck, and Lark gave him a reassuring kiss on his cheek.
“I’m fine, Phillip. See? I’m not dead at all.”
He lifted his head. “But you don’t work at Papa’s bank no more, and remember when everyone was mad at you?”
She pursed her lips. “I do.”
“And then you left and didn’t tell me goodbye, so I knowed you were dead. I just knowed it!”
Her mouth softened. Phillip had been worried for her welfare, and how could she not fall in love with him for it? “I think you knowed wrong, then.”
His grasp loosened, but only a little. He looked with bold curiosity around him. “Is this where you live?”
She hesitated. “I’m afraid so.”
“Do you like it better than your sleeping room in Ida Grove?”
“I do not.”
“Then why do you stay here?”
“Because I must.”
“Because you stole some money, huh?”
She sighed. “That’s right.” Phillip was far more astute than any six-year-old should be. But he needed to understand exactly where he was. “I want to show you something.”
She carried him to the window. Together, they peered out into the bleak February day.
“This is where they send outlaws, Phillip. I’m staying in the women’s department. Over there—” she pointed “—is where the men live. There are hundreds of them, all very bad.” She shifted her stance. “See that fence? It’s thirteen feet tall and stronger than any fence you’ve ever seen. Nobody can come in or leave unless you have special permission from Warden Heisey. You’d have to wear a striped uniform, eat the same food every day and no one would hardly ever visit. It’s no fun to be here, Phillip. That’s why you must never, ever, be an outlaw when you grow up.”
Phillip shook his head. “But I don’t want to be an outlaw anymore.”
“You don’t?” she asked, taken aback.
“I want to be a bounty hunter and catch outlaws. Just like Ross.”
“Oh.” Lark swallowed against a sudden welling of emotion. “Ross is a fine bounty hunter,” she said softly. “You’d do well if you grew up like him.”
Matron Wood opened the door. “Five minutes left.”
“Thank you,” Lark said and set Phillip down. She missed him already, now that it was time for him to leave.
Mr. Templeton took his son’s hand. “I’ll be returning later to assist you in calculating the interest payments and writing the drafts. I’ve already made arrangements with Warden Heisey. There’s much work to be done.”
Lark nodded. Excitement stirred within her, a renewal of her love for numbers. The opportunity, too, to right the wrong she’d done. “Yes. There is.”
“Oh. And before I forget.” He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out an envelope. “A one-way stagecoach ticket to Ida Grove. I’ll expect you at your desk promptly, the first morning you’re back.”
She pressed her fingers to her mouth and fought tears.
A chance to start over. One more time.
“I’ll be there,” she whispered.
Lark was all kinds of a fool for thinking he’d come.
As the stagecoach rumbled to a stop at the Ida Grove station, the last leg of her journey from Anamosa, Lark searched the platform for Ross’s tall form, for the dark eye patch that set him apart from other men.
He wasn’t there.
Disappointed, she let the window curtain drop. It was her own doing, she supposed. That night in the cemetery. She’d pushed him out of her life, her pride unable to bear having him see her humiliated. A prisoner wearing stripes. Punished for what she’d done.
But where her words declared one thing, in truth, her fickle heart wanted another.
She’d missed him terribly. It was the worst part of her incarceration, being separated from him, stifling her love for a man she’d come to admire for his honor and devotion to justice, when what she really wanted was some sign that he’d missed her, too. A letter. A visit.
Or a few of his bone-melting kisses.
Evidently he didn’t need her now that the justice had been done. He didn’t want a woman with a blemished past. And God knew he had plenty to do with his time, building furniture and taking care of Chat. Maybe he had even found another woman to hold in his arms at night.
And wasn’t that a depressing thought?
She had to quit thinking about him. She couldn’t forget that this was the happiest day of her life. That she was truly free, her debt to society paid in full.
Yet, now that she was here, what if the citizens of Ida Grove didn’t want her back?
She’d never know if they forgave her shame and guilt until she went in amongst them to find out. The stagecoach door opened, and taking a deep breath, Lark climbed down.
A light blanket of snow had fallen overnight, but the platform was swept clear, as were the boardwalks going in every direction. The cold February air filled her lungs, chased away her worry, left her invigorated and eager to begin her new life.
Mr. Templeton stepped forward with a broad smile. “Good morning, Miss Renault. Did you have a good trip?”
“Any trip away from a penitentiary is a good one, don’t you think?”
He chuckled his understanding, the camaraderie that had built between them. The driver tossed her valise down, and Mr. Templeton took it upon himself to carry it for her.
“Shall we?” he asked.
He presented his arm, and she tucked her fingers in the crook of his elbow. The Ida Grove Bank was a short walk from the stagecoach station. Lark was both honored and relieved that he insisted upon escorting her there.
Their footsteps clomped on the wooden planks. Her gaze took in the businesses lined up side by side, just as she remembered. If not for the change of seasons, she could almost pretend she’d never been gone.
They rounded the corner. Scores of people lined the boardwalk in front of the bank. Men, women, children. All ages. All familiar. All so startling to see that she faltered in midstep.
But Mr. Templeton merely patted her arm. “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Renault. These are your friends. They’re here to welcome you back, that’s all.”
They kept walking. Closer. Someone called out her name
, and a sudden cheer went up.
Mrs. Kelley appeared out of the crowd, her round face beaming. “Lark, dear. It’s wonderful to see you again. I’ve saved your sleeping room, you know. I’ll expect you for dinner this evening, too, just like always.”
All her boarders were there. Sarah, too, smiling shyly, and then there was Chat, who’d grown even prettier over the past year. She threw her arms around Lark in a quick, exuberant hug.
“I’m so happy you’re back!” she said, laughing in delight. “We’ll talk soon! I promise!”
Before Lark could answer, Nell, the plump owner of the bakery next door, moved in front of her. She thrust a fried apple fritter, wrapped in paper and still warm from the fryer, into Lark’s hand.
“To eat with your morning coffee,” she said. “Just like you used to.”
Lark exclaimed her thanks, and Ollie elbowed his way to her. “Having you here in Ida Grove is great news, Lark. I’ll be by to do an interview. Folks from miles around will be happy to read that you’ve come back home.”
Home. Lark loved the sound of it, and her mouth opened to reply, but Mr. Templeton kept her moving past scores of familiar faces—his wife, Amelia’s, included, and little Phillip, grinning and waving madly, Father Baxter, too—until they reached the front doors. Sheriff Sternberg waited there, looking fit as ever after his knifing from Catfish Jack.
“A fine thing you did, helping the law and all, Miss Renault,” he said. “You made Ida Grove a safer place to live. Folks are just showing their appreciation. We’re proud to have you with us. Don’t think we’re not.”
She didn’t have time to make an appropriate response before Mr. Templeton ushered her into the bank and locked the doors again, keeping everyone out until the official opening time at ten o’clock.
In the sudden silence of the bank’s cool, dim interior, she was positively speechless at what had just happened.
Mr. Templeton smiled, set her valise down by her desk and removed his hat. “Do you remember the combination to the vault?”
Still holding her fritter, she began to unbutton her coat. “Yes, sir. I believe I do.”
“Good. Very good.” He gave her a broad wink before his bank-president demeanor returned. “We have a bank to open, Miss Renault. No time to waste.”
He left for his office, and Lark hung up her coat, added her hat and hastened to her desk, skimming a quick glance about the lobby as she went. Everything seemed the same—the gleaming marble floor, the polished furniture, even the latest edition of Ollie’s newspaper on the tables.
Oh, but it was wonderful to be back!
She sat in her chair and positioned the Victor so that it perched in its usual place. Impulsively, she gave the crank a quick shine. It wouldn’t do to have her customers see a smudged adding machine, would it?
Mrs. Pankonin appeared, a cup and saucer in her hand. Lark tensed, but refused to let the pinch-nosed woman dampen what had so far been an almost perfect morning.
“Miss Renault,” she greeted her in a stiff voice. “I brought you some fresh coffee.” She set the steaming brew next to the Victor.
“Thank you,” Lark said carefully and tried to recall when Mrs. Pankonin had done anything of the sort before.
She failed.
A moment passed. Mrs. Pankonin sniffed. “The audit we did after you left showed all accounts in perfect order,” she admitted. “Not a single penny was missing.”
“I know,” Lark said coolly.
“It seems I judged you unfairly, and for that I apologize.”
Perhaps the woman was human, after all. Lark smiled. “Your apology is accepted.”
The lines around Mrs. Pankonin’s mouth faded. Relief, perhaps?
“The bank hasn’t been the same since you left. Welcome back, Miss Renault,” she said in a rush, then hurried away, her heels brisk against the marble floor.
Lark watched her go with an amazed shake of her head.
By the time the lights had been turned on and the doors unlocked, Lark found herself running a little behind. She stood at her window, arranging the pencils she’d just sharpened in their tray. She still had to double-check the money in her drawer, but, unfortunately, a shadow appeared at her window.
Her first customer of the day. She was feeling a little harried not being ready, but she summoned her most courteous smile and lifted her glance.
Ross stood on the other side of the counter, tall and lean and devastatingly male with his hair a little too long and his eye patch a little too dangerous-looking. An instant pool of heat formed deep in her belly.
She’d not seen him in such a long time. She had to remember that he’d stayed away. That what happened between them was gone forever, and now he was only a bank customer, nothing more.
“Good morning, Mr. Santana,” she said, appalled at how flustered she sounded.
He inclined his head and looked amused. Was he mocking her somehow? “Miss Renault.”
“What can I do for you this morning?” she asked.
He slid a leather sheaf under her window. “I want to make a deposit.”
“You do?” She hid her surprise. “Well, certainly. What is your account number?”
“Don’t have one.”
She eyed him. “Do you want to open an account with us?”
“Guess I need one to put money in one.”
Clearly, he didn’t hate banks so much anymore. He had, after all, entrusted Mr. Templeton with his sizable reward money, hadn’t he? The thought pleased her.
“It won’t take but a minute to prepare the papers.” She opened the sheaf and blinked at the stack of bills. Holy hellfire, a small fortune. She glanced over at him again. “This is what you want to deposit?”
He frowned. “Just about every damn dime I own is inside that leather.”
He looked so grave, she couldn’t help giving him a gentle smile of reassurance. “We’ll take good care of it, Mr. Santana. I promise you.”
As soon as the words were out, she realized how trite they sounded. He knew as well as she did banks weren’t impenetrable. Vaults could be blown wide open and stripped clean in minutes.
Still, robberies were the exception. Countless banks throughout the country kept hundreds of thousands of dollars safe every day. Up to now, the Ida Grove Bank had done the same. No reason to believe they wouldn’t keep on doing it, too, for a long time to come.
To soothe his misgivings, however, she closed up the sheaf. “The bank is getting rather busy. If you don’t mind, just to be safe, I’ll count the money and prepare the deposit in the vault.” She stepped away from her window with her best bank-teller smile. “I’ll return shortly.”
She strode into the small steel-encased room which protected the bank’s funds and drew in a slow breath. The man still had the power to knock the wind right out of her. She needed a little time to gather her wits so she could think. And count. Opening the sheaf again, she pulled out the hefty stack of bank notes. She’d be far more accurate if Ross wasn’t watching and getting her all rattled—
A muscled arm banded her waist. “Quit playing games with me, Lark.”
“Oh!” Startled at Ross’s low growl in her ear, several bills slipped from her fingers.
“‘Good morning, Mr. Santana’,” he mimicked. “‘Certainly, Mr. Santana’.” He swore. “Is that what you think I am? Just an ordinary bank customer?”
The vault barely had room enough to hold one person, let alone two, and one of Ross’s size, especially. She had to push to get herself turned around to face him.
“Well, aren’t you? It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I’ve forgotten what you are to me.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You sent me away!”
“But I didn’t want you to stay away!” she blurted.
Why hadn’t he seen through her foolish heart? That she’d wanted to be with him no matter what she told him in the cemetery? That even a single, brief visit supervised by Matron Wood would have been better than the
awful loneliness she endured believing she’d never see him again?
“What?” he asked, incredulous.
She felt ridiculously near tears. “I certainly couldn’t come to you, could I?”
For a long moment, he just stared.
In the next, he hauled her against him with a roughness that sent a few more bills drifting to the floor. “I thought— I was sure—” His head lowered, and his mouth covered hers with a restrained savagery that told her she wasn’t the only one who’d been miserable. “I’ve lived hell without you.” His hands moved up and down her back, as if he couldn’t touch her enough. “Knowing where you were, how you hated being there, what it cost you to go.”
“It had to be done,” she managed between frenzied kisses. “I wanted it done.”
“But I had to stay behind. I don’t know what was worse.”
She curled her arms around him, still clutching his money, barely aware that he shouldn’t be in the vault with her, that Mr. Templeton or Mrs. Pankonin could come upon them at any time.
“Got to where I couldn’t stand being alone, even when Chat was around.” At the admission, his head lifted. “I started finding excuses to go into town. When I did, folks would stop and want to talk about you.” His hand fisted in her hair; his thumb stroked the auburn coils. “It helped that they missed you almost as much as I did. Admired you, too. I made some friends from it, I guess. They kept me from going crazy.”
Lark wasn’t sure what she’d done deserved anyone’s admiration. But if it helped Ross bury his bitterness and reach out for companionship to the goodhearted townspeople eager to give it, then her ordeal had been worth it.
“You made Ollie write about me,” she murmured.
“Because I’ve learned gossip is what folks do. Sometimes bad, but it can be good, too. I wanted to make sure when the gossip was about you, it was the truth.”
“Well, I’m not the only one folks are talking about.” She gently touched the smooth leather of his eye patch and smiled. “Little Phillip can’t talk about you enough.”
Ross grunted. “He’s a cute kid.”
“Smart, too. You’ve made quite an impression on him.”