by Leah Atwood
He entered the hotel on the heels of Leroy. “I’ll tell you the story, but I’ll pass on the drink because I can’t stay too long.”
“Fair enough.” Leroy led him to a small room behind the front desk, which was used as an office. The interior was surprisingly mundane compared to the gaudiness of other parts of the establishment. “Take a seat.”
For the second time in an hour, Patrick recounted the now humiliating tale, shifting in the red velvet upholstered chair, the only object with bold color in the room, when he told how easily he’d been conned.
“That so?” Leroy said when Patrick finished telling the story. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you conjured up one mad stallion of a story.”
“I don’t suppose you know anything about the man who posed as the judge, do you?” Gripping his hat, which rested in his lap, Patrick willed himself not to sound as eager as he actually was to collect information.
“Was he about this tall?” Leroy stretched his arm upward until it hovered six feet above the ground.
“Yes.”
“One blue eye and one gray eye?”
“That’s him.” Excitement pounded through him and he scooted forward in the chair. Finally, he might get something to go on.
“His name’s Roscoe Dalkin, a gambler who comes through twice a year. Struck it rich during the early day of gold fever in the black hills, but has squandered most of it away.” Leroy lit a cigar and took a puff.
“Any idea how he joined up with Burl?” Patrick tried piecing together the puzzle, but nothing added up yet.
“Far as I know, they were strangers until Burl moved here and they met playing cards.” Setting down the cigar, Leroy regarded him solemnly. “I wish I’d known about you and Candace. Not just so I could’ve warned you, but then I would have made it a point to know Burl and Roscoe’s business.”
“Is there any possibility that Burl’s death could have been attributed to Roscoe?”
“Possibly, but it’s improbable. Roscoe hasn’t been seen since shortly after you left. And while I don’t claim to know him too well, he doesn’t strike me as a murderer.” Leroy tapped on his desk. “Besides, there’s no reason to suspect anyone murdered Burl. The man was a drunk and good-for-nothing. It seems his body plumb gave up on him.”
Patrick drummed his fingers on the wooden armrest, contemplating. There must be a reason Roscoe impersonated a judge, but the only reason Patrick could call to mind was to settle a gambling debt—a likely story since the men were known for financial recklessness. Unfortunately, it still didn’t answer any questions about Burl’s visit, and it seemed the reason went with him to his grave.
Too bad the weather turned for the worst and he didn’t have time to investigate further. He rose from the chair and took a step forward, reaching into his pocket. “How much did Burl still owe you?”
“Just a night’s stay. Only my best customers I know and trust are allowed to settle their debt at the end of their stay. Everyone else pays upfront every night.”
“Take this.” Patrick handed over a dollar to cover the cost.
“I’m not taking your money.” Leroy pushed the money away as he stood then moved to the front of his desk.
“I didn’t care for the man, but he’s Candace’s father. Married to her or not, she’s my responsibility now, which means his debt became my obligation.”
Leaning against the desk, Leroy crossed his arms and looked Patrick square in the eyes. “I always knew you had an honest heart hiding in you, but Burl’s debt isn’t yours to settle. You want to fulfill your obligations? Go make that marriage to Candace good and legal.”
Patrick’s mouth curled into a half smile, and he laughed. “Says the man who runs a brothel with his sister behind the guise of a hotel and doesn’t believe in marriage?”
Sadness briefly flickered in Leroy’s eyes. “I don’t believe in it for me. Edna and I treat the girls well. They can leave at any time, but here, they’re safe and have shelter and plenty of food.”
Behind the older man’s tough exterior, he was a good man with misguided intentions, but Patrick didn’t comment on that, choosing instead to bid farewell. “If I’m to make it back to Weatherton tonight, I best get going.”
“You’re welcome back anytime, but I have the feeling I won’t see much of you around these parts anymore.” A wink Patrick’s way gave Leroy’s eyes a mischievous sparkle.
Patrick returned the smile. “Have a good Thanksgiving.”
“Don’t forget Burl’s things. Candace might want them.”
That’s right—his main purpose for coming to the hotel other than garnering information.
Leroy pulled a box from a bookcase and gave it to him. “There wasn’t much, but this is what was left in his room. I tossed out the only other pair of clothes he had because they weren’t worth wrestling a pig in.”
Taking the box, Patrick couldn’t help but feel a ping of pity for Burl. What a sad state of affairs when a man’s life was surmised by a small box of belonging with no one caring and was buried out yonder with no one to grieve his death. “I’ll make sure Candace gets it.”
“Take good care of her. I only met the girl a few times, but she deserves a better life than what she’s been given.” Leroy slapped his arm. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
Once outside, Patrick grimaced—the snowstorm had progressed rapidly. He’d lived in Wyoming his entire life and should have known better. The weather here was harsh, unpredictable in its force. The wise thing to do would have been to head home at the first hint of snow.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight.” Waving his hand toward the accumulating mess, Leroy looked down the street. “You can’t even see across the road to the mercantile.”
“I told Candace I’d be back for Thanksgiving.”
“Don’t be foolish, boy. Traveling anywhere tonight would be a suicide trip.”
“I intend to keep that promise.” Patrick adjusted the box on his arm but gave Leroy a firm stare.
Leroy was not to be intimidated. “What good is a promise if you die trying to fulfill it?”
Chapter Six
Gratitude filled Candace’s heart, in spite of the uncertainties hanging over her head like a storm cloud on the verge of unleashing its rain. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, and for the first time in her life, she would celebrate with family. Pa didn’t believe in holidays, and she couldn’t recall such a time with Ma. This year she had the entire Holden family, plus the Simpsons with whom to celebrate.
Preparations for the large feast began earlier in the day. Sam dropped off Maeve at the Simpson’s house this morning before leaving to hunt for grouse. Lucas and Benjamin went with him, eager to be men and contribute to the meal. Ma Holden and Rosie Simpson busied themselves cleaning and polishing the good silver until it shined. Candace offered to do the dirty work, but the older two women had insisted they enjoyed the work until finally, Candace had concluded they were enjoying their time alone, away from the younger generation. Mr. Simpson remained in the mercantile, helping any straggling customers who came in before the store closed until after the holiday.
For the last few hours, Candace had been in the kitchen with Maeve, Liza, and Jeanette, all of whom were assigned to the task of baking pies and bread. Jeanette, still a young child, stood on a stool and dumped each ingredient into a bowl as Candace handed it to her. Flour floated everywhere, and Candace was sure they looked a mess but didn’t care. She enjoyed the camaraderie and the joyfulness in the air.
In the last few days, she’d put her life into perspective and realized that she had so many things for which to be thankful. Setting aside the reason she’d married, she’d escaped Pa’s abuse and found a happy family. Even if Patrick and she weren’t married, he’d assured her she’d be safe. If they parted ways as husband and wife, at least she wouldn’t be forced to return to Pa.
Furthermore, her arm was almost healed. Infection never set in, a miracle for how badly she’d been burned.
Doc Foster said he’d never seen such a burn heal so quickly. When she thought how she could have faced death, the scars were no longer treacherous. She still hated to see them, but the bitterness that accompanied the image was slowly fading.
If Patrick couldn’t see past her physical imperfections, then that was his problem. If they were truly married, then she could only pray one day he could look beyond them and come to love her. And if they weren’t married, after all, then she prayed that one day she could move on and find someone to love her.
Or that Patrick would want to marry her and she wouldn’t have to move on.
No matter what happened, it was in God’s hands. For a long time, she hadn’t believed that and wasn’t entirely sure she even believed in a God. She’d seen too many things in her life, faced too many hardships. The Holdens had changed all of that. They’d shown her there was goodness to be found in this world. They continually displayed faith in the midst of adversity.
Even Patrick gave her hope, fostered her belief in a higher power. She’d heard the stories of his past, knew first-hand the consequences. Their entire predicament was evidence he’d not lived on the straight and narrow, but he had changed. Yes, he’d largely avoided her since the fire, rarely giving her more than a passing glance, but she’d seen his conversion.
When they’d met in Pine Prairie, only a few months ago, he was arrogant, crass, and outright bold. Oh, he’d wooed her with smooth words and silken promises, but she’d known what he was after. She’d craved attention but wasn’t completely naïve. She’d known better, but had still indulged him and given away kisses.
They had both changed since that night. Both were wiser, more mature. Over the passing weeks, she’d watch him grow, participate more with his family. He stepped up and joined his twin brother in the role of leading the family. And her journey—her growth wasn’t as gradual, more of a burst that came from the depths of hopelessness.
Her memory drifted back to the night of the dance, the day before she’d become a married woman. Patrick’s kisses were better than she could have imagined. Of course, she’d only kissed one other man prior to that so she didn’t have much to compare it to, but she didn’t think it could get much better than perfection. She’d never admit it, but she wished Patrick would kiss her like that again. It was such a wanton thought, but she wished he’d show the same attraction to her in a marriage that he had during that night of the dance.
“Someone’s blushing.” Maeve’s voice broke her concentration.
She felt the heat on her cheeks, only now realizing her hands had stilled, and the rolling pin no longer moved.
Liza looked at Maeve and winked. “I wonder what, I mean who, she is thinking about.”
Raising a hand to her cheek, she felt her skin warm even more and was embarrassed to be caught with her mind drifting. “Nothing,” she lied. “I’m standing too close to the stove.”
“Hmm.” Maeve elbowed Liza. “Are my cheeks flushed? Because you and I are standing directly in front of the heat.”
“Not at all.” Smirking, Liza patted hers. “Are mine?”
“No.” Maeve grinned.
“Is this what I missed having sisters?” Laughter bubbled in Candace as she watched them. She couldn’t find it in her to be irritated with their teasing, but she absolutely wasn’t going to share what had caused her to blush.
“Speaking of Patrick…” Liza threw another wink her way. “I thought he’d be back today.”
“Me too.” A hint of wistfulness insinuated her voice. She missed him something fierce. She hated to confess it, but even his presence, while distant at times, had been a soothing comfort for her. “I hope everything is okay.”
“There’s still plenty of time left in the day.” Maeve took a few steps and closed the distance between them. “I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”
Jeanette, knees knocking and ankles crossed, tugged on Candace’s skirt. “I have to go to the outhouse.”
“I’ll take her.” Liza took her baby sister’s hand and led her to the door.
A gush of cold air filled the room.
“Uh, oh,” Liza muttered.
Jeanette squealed with delight.
“What is it?” Maeve asked.
Candace turned and her heart tightened. Several inches of snow covered the ground. A blanket of white lowered visibility and the outhouse couldn’t be seen from the house. No one had expected this storm.
Worry filled her. Was Patrick caught in the storm? The plains were notorious for their sudden and severe blizzards. She’d lived everywhere from Nebraska to the Dakotas before coming to Wyoming, and she knew the danger of being caught unaware in a blizzard.
Maeve’s pinched eyes and mouth showed an equal amount of concern. Sam was still out there. So were Benjamin and Lucas.
“Let’s go find Ma.” Liza closed the door.
“But I have to go.” Jeanette danced around.
“You’ll have to use a chamber pot.”
They left the room, leaving Maeve and Candace alone.
Grabbing Candace’s hand, Maeve gripped it tightly. “Where do you think the men are?”
“They are smart and have been through these things before. I’m sure they’ve found shelter somewhere and will be home as soon as it’s safe to travel.” Seeing the fear on Maeve’s face scared Candace, but she managed to keep her voice steady and changed her approach. “Sam will walk in the door soon with his brothers, carrying a string of grouse for tomorrow’s dinner.”
Maeve swallowed. “Do you think Patrick stayed in Pine Prairie?”
“I hope.” She was disappointed Thanksgiving wouldn’t be spent with him after all, but she’d rather he was safe. “Unless he left before the storm began.”
“You really care for him, don’t you?” Maeve was the only person who knew the teetering brink of her and Patrick’s relationship though the others could probably infer there were problems. “Perhaps this marriage issue, and now the storm, will help bring you and him closer.”
“Maybe.” She could only think as far as his safety for now.
“Will you pray with me?” Maeve’s voice shook badly, making her words difficult to understand. “It will make me feel better.”
She nodded then bowed her head, listening to Maeve pray for Sam’s safety, along with the others. As the words came out of Maeve’s mouth, Candace felt a small peace settle over her. Patrick would be fine. He had to be.
After saying Amen¸ Maeve looked up. “We should get these pies in the oven.”
Ten minutes later, all the pies were ready to bake. Candace slipped two in the oven, and the remaining ones sat on the counter, waiting for their turn. “Do you want to go join Ma Holden and the others?”
“Yes. Maybe Mrs. Simpson has some sewing that needs completing. I need to keep my hands busy.”
“I understand.” Candace empathized. If her hands were occupied, she wouldn’t think as much about Patrick’s whereabouts.
They found Ma Holden in the parlor, sitting on a settee next to Mrs. Simpson. Liza stood at a window, staring out, and Jeanette sat on a chair, drawing on a slate.
“Come join us, girls.” Mrs. Simpson gestured to a tray on the table. “I have a pot of hot tea waiting for us to drink it. Mr. Simpson will join as soon as he secures the store.”
Candace followed Maeve’s steps then sat next to her on another settee, covered in a rich, baroque pattern. She tried not to keep looking toward the window.
“I can’t see anything.” Liza gave up her perch and sat down with her family.
Ma Holden remained calm. “It’s just a storm. The boys know what to do in them.”
Her calm presence was a lie. Her eyes told otherwise, and Candace saw true fear in them. Ma Holden was a force of nature herself, strong and often gruff—so much so that Candace was intimidated by her for the first few weeks in Weatherton—but she was still a mother, gravely concerned for her sons.
An idea struck her like divine inspiration. “Why don’t w
e take turns saying things we are thankful for?”
Mrs. Simpson clapped her hands. “That’s a wonderful idea.”
“I agree.” Ma Holden gave her an approving smile. “I’ll begin. I am thankful for the two additional daughters I’ve been blessed with this year.”
Jeanette glanced up from her slate. “I’m thankful for my two new sisters I’ve gotten. Now we outnumber the boys.”
Everyone laughed, and Candace noted that no one dispelled the fact that she probably wasn’t a daughter or sister-in-law.
“I’ll go next.” Mrs. Simpson paused to take a sip of her tea. “I’m thankful to have a houseful of people for Thanksgiving this year. It’s been such a blessing to have your family here. Sometimes it’s lonely just having Glen and me, and I’ve missed having children in the house.”
“I’m thankful for meeting Patrick.” Liza and Maeve snickered, but Candace continued. “I don’t know what will happen in the future, especially if we’re not really married, but I’ll be forever grateful for the love and acceptance each of you have shown me.”
Overcome with love for this wonderful family, she wiped a tear from her eyes.
Ma Holden came to her side and wrapped her in a hug. “No matter what happens, you are a part of this family and always will be. This marriage business is just a formality.”
Too emotional, Candace couldn’t speak. She simply hugged Ma Holden tighter. How she loved each member of this family.
Especially Patrick, husband or not.
The front door flew open. Ma Holden released Candace, and they spun their attention to see who entered. Candace held her breath, hoping to see Patrick.
She didn’t.
Lucas came through the door first, followed by Benjamin. Lastly, Sam walked through, carrying a string with six grouse attached.
Sam shook the snow from his coat and grinned, holding up the birds. “We brought tomorrow’s dinner.”