Clay grabbed a rifle from the case, jammed his wet hat on his head and locked the door before running back out into the downpour. All of their slickers had been lost, and he hadn’t thought to purchase a new one yet.
An hour later he had three drunks in the two makeshift cells and a fire lit in the stove. He took off his shirt, wrung it out and hung it on a nail.
After getting out his cleaning materials and rags, he cleaned and oiled all three of his guns.
Sam dragged himself from his spot by the heat with a grunt and stood at Clay’s feet.
“You gotta go out now? Don’t that just figure.” Clay didn’t bother with the shirt, he just grabbed his hat and walked the dog out beside the building. Old Sam could barely make it back, and Clay had to boost his rump up the last step and over the sill.
He found a length of toweling that didn’t smell like oil, dried his hair and chest first, then dried the dog best he could. By now Sam was shivering from the cold rain.
“There you go, boy. Lay by the fire and you’ll warm up.” After rubbing the mutt’s damp ear, Clay stood. He’d had mixed feelings ever since the night of the fire. Feelings that made him feel like a blackened soul. Of course he wouldn’t have wanted Sam to die a frightened and painful death, but maybe just being overcome by smoke wouldn’t have been such a bad way to go.
Cowardly, that’s what his thinkin’ was. Mean and cowardly. Clay knew what was best for his old friend. Knew what had to be done. He’d been putting it off for nearly a year while Sam got weaker and lost more of his senses. He would take Sam by the doc’s place first chance he got.
“I’m a big coward, boy,” he told the dog. “You wouldn’t have made me suffer if it was the other way around.”
“Let me the hell out of here!” Gil Tucker shouted. “These apes stink!”
“You’ll get out in the mornin’ after you’ve slept it off,” Clay called back.
“Who the hell kin sleep in this place?”
“I didn’t tell ya to get drunk and shoot up the saloon,” he answered. “Now you’re just gonna hafta make the best of it.”
The man cursed and flopped on the bedroll he’d been given. “Hell of a place for a man.”
Clay stretched out on one of the bunks at the front of the room. The city marshals had decided among them that there would be someone present at all times whenever a prisoner was being held. Clay had told Hershel to go on home to his wife. Clay didn’t have anyone waiting for him, after all.
Lightning brightened the interior in sporadic bursts, followed by darkness and a clap of thunder. Come to think of it he wouldn’t mind someone waiting for him when he got back to his place. Wouldn’t mind it at all.
“Oh Sophie, he’s a perfect gentleman. He knows about art and literature and music. He’s been to Spain and to London, and has even met the president. He’s been to exciting places and done so many things.” Amanda leaned across the cutting table and squeezed Sophie’s arm. “And I think he’s rich. Really rich.”
They were in the spacious sewing room of the dormitory early Sunday afternoon, and Sophie cut a salmon-colored sleeve around a pattern piece for Amanda’s new brocade dress for fall. “What does he do?”
Amanda took straight pins from her mouth to reply. “Some sort of investments for cattlemen. He’s planning a trip to Switzerland, can you imagine?”
Sophie merely raised her brows with a nod.
“He’s staying at the Strong Hotel. That’s where we had dinner. He ordered champagne! Have you ever tasted champagne? It was bubbly.”
“It sounds as though he went all out to impress you,” Sophie replied.
“I was impressed,” Amanda assured her. “But Sophie, he likes me. He thinks I’m funny and interesting. Isn’t that the most outrageous thinking?” She bubbled with laughter. “Why, he’s the one who’s absolutely fascinating. And handsome. Not to mention polite. Did I say that already?” She pressed a hand to her breast. “He’s almost too good to be true.”
Exactly what Sophie had been thinking. “You be very, very sure of his intentions before you accept more invitations,” she warned, wanting to say more, but regretting she sounded like a paranoid mother.
“He’s a nice man, Sophie.”
“He seems like a nice man. You don’t know a man’s true character right up front. Not everyone is what they seem at first.”
“Sometimes you say things like you know bad people firsthand,” Amanda told her.
Sophie laid down the scissors and picked up the sleeve she’d cut. “What do you mean?”
“I just get a feeling that there are things you don’t say.”
“All I am saying is be careful. Don’t jump into anything or make any commitments until you’re one hundred percent sure.”
“I’m not a child, Sophie. I won’t. I just want to be happy.”
Sophie held her tongue. Amanda was as fresh and innocent as a child, which often touched Sophie, but more often terrified her. She almost felt like a parent. Life lessons had given her a steely maturity she’d never asked for. “You deserve to be happy.”
“Thank you for helping me,” Amanda said quietly.
Sophie looked up.
“Not just with the dress, but for caring about me.”
Sophie didn’t know how to answer. She hadn’t been close to anyone since she was a child. She simply nodded. “I’ll be working on my own creation after this is finished,” she told Amanda. “I have the fabric and trim ordered. I saw it in a catalog at Miss Brimly’s hat shop. I even ordered white gloves, and extra satin trim to make them match.”
“I’ll help you,” Amanda promised.
Olivia paused in the doorway and spotted them. “Sophie! Is it true you’re giving dance lessons this very afternoon?”
“It’s true.”
“Is there room for me in your class? How much is a lesson?”
Sophie blinked in surprise. “Of course there’s room for you. And…” She’d never given a thought to charging for lessons. The whole thing had come about so unexpectedly.
“Your first lesson is free, isn’t that so?” Amanda caught on to the concept quickly and was giving Sophie a chance to think on it some more.
“Oh!” Olivia clasped her hands together. “That’s wonderful. I’ll be there. In the courting room?”
Sophie nodded.
After Olivia had gone, Amanda grinned. “This is a golden opportunity for you to add to your savings. Dance lessons are costly, and most of these girls have never had the opportunity.”
“I’m not a professional,” Sophie objected.
“It doesn’t matter. You have an ability and can offer a service that will benefit others.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Surely you see how the girls admire you and wish to have a measure of your same composure and style. You’re a fine example, Sophie.”
Amanda’s generous words pierced Sophie’s conscience anew. If she was their example, they were all in a lot of trouble. Sophie could become anyone she wanted or contrive an elaborate scheme, but she truly didn’t know the first thing about really being a young lady of quality. Or a friend for that matter.
Pinning a sleeve together, she came to a conclusion. She could pretend to be a dance teacher, though, and she could be darned good at it.
News of Sunday afternoon’s lesson had made the rounds at the dormitory, and eight girls showed up. The courting room was tastefully furnished with tufted Roman divans and an assortment of chairs. Velvet draped windows overlooked the front street. Sophie rolled up the floral print rugs, wound up the Victrola, and paired the young ladies.
“You are in charge,” she told them. “Remember that at all times. You are women of destiny, your own destiny. Your job is to become the woman of his desires. You must deliberately fashion your image and create the situation you can command. Men will feel more powerful and more desirable because they’re in your company.”
The girls looked at each ot
her and back at Sophie like dogs with new bones.
“Think of it, ladies! Think of the women that men admire most. Men are fascinated by someone who is not easily flustered or embarrassed. They’re intrigued by confidence. You are strong and clever. You are resourceful and charming. Size up the person you’re going to impress and give him what he wants. Show him the woman he’s looking for.”
“Is that why all the men pay attention to you, Sophie?” Rosie asked. “You’re the woman they want?”
“They think I’m the woman they want,” she replied straightforwardly. “There’s something very attractive about a much-sought-after partner, isn’t there? There’s mystery and appeal in the one who is confident and, yes perhaps even aloof. Show me aloof.”
Expressions changed one by one as her row of pupils practiced.
Sophie stepped up to Freeda Barnhart and bowed from the waist. “May I have this dance?”
Freeda immediately stepped forward.
Sophie urged her back into her place and took a spot at the end of the line. “Now ask me.”
Freeda slipped forward with a shy grin. “May I have this dance, Miss Hollis?”
Sophie deliberately touched her gaze on Olivia standing beside her before slowly bringing it to Freeda. She studied her with seeming disinterest for a moment, then extended her hand.
“Did you see the difference?” she asked of the gathering. “I’m doing this man a favor by accepting his invitation. He’s not in charge. Do you recognize my control over the situation?”
Chatter buried her next words.
“Let me try!” Emma begged.
Sophie gestured for Emma to take her place in line. Slowly, Sophie strolled along the row as though taking measure of each. When she reached Emma, she asked, “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Spearman?”
Emma raised one brow in an amused question before glancing at the girl beside her. As though deciding, she gave a slight nod. “Why yes, thank you.”
The girls all burst out with exclamations and excited laughter.
“I thought we were going to dance,” one of them called through the noise.
“Oh, we’re going to dance,” Sophie returned. “But not until each of you possesses the correct demeanor. Not until each one of you knows she is a gift to the man who will be her partner.
“You are young ladies from good families who are respected for your discipline and sense of adventure. Anyone can come west on a wagon train, but only a real lady can become a Harvey Girl. Your title and position carry prestige.”
One by one the girls straightened their postures. “Sophie’s right,” Emma said. “We’re always the most popular at the dances. And for good reason.”
The Victrola had wound down, so Sophie cranked it up again. Now was the time to show them how to dance in graceful steps, how to hold their heads erect, to use their hands for effect and stand with their spines straight. By evening she watched as they paired up and waltzed one another around on the carpet.
Since meeting these girls there were so many lessons she now wished she’d never learned. Sometimes she sat back and envied their lack of sophistication and their youthful naiveté. They’d led such carefree uncomplicated lives that she felt like a spoiled apple in the bin. Some of her knowledge was too valuable to keep to herself, however. The way they interacted with men appalled her. If she could prevent any of them from losing their self-respect, she would.
Maybe she did have a service to offer that would actually benefit these girls. Depending on how well this first lesson went and how they applied what they learned, she could consider charging for sharing her skills. It could be one more way to add to her savings and earn her way to freedom.
Just the word encouraged her: freedom.
That week Sophie attended the Saturday-night dance with the rest of the waitresses, watching as her protégés applied their lessons. By ones and twos the women were asked to dance. Sophie recognized the ranges of response they’d practiced, everything from coy hesitation to aloof confidence in their expressions. Emma even looked over her shoulder to wink at Sophie as she accompanied her partner onto the dance floor.
Only Sophie remained standing at the side as the others danced. What must it be like to be carefree and anticipate a promising future? They had the right to make choices for themselves, and she wanted them to make the best decisions. She was so caught up in watching their graceful movements and the rapt faces of their partners that she was caught off guard by the man who stepped up beside her.
“Miss Hollis.” That voice was unmistakable, as was the accompanying shiver along her spine.
“Marshal.”
“Nice evening.”
“It is. How’s Sam?”
“Had a little more spunk than usual this week. It was good to see.” He studied the dancers. “Care to take a spin around the floor?”
She wasn’t acting when she brought her gaze to his face and studied his expression. Her girls would have applauded her hesitation, but she was merely sorting her thoughts. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe when he stood near, and she was a master at composure, physical as well as mental. He made her feel things she had trouble stifling. He was the last person she should let affect her, but also the last person anyone on her trail would expect her to associate with.
With a flutter in her belly as though she was preparing to jump off a cliff, she extended her hand.
Chapter Seven
He took her hand. His fingers were long and hard and hers felt tiny in his. The flutter in her belly turned into a quaking and wreaked havoc with her senses.
He led her into the crowd and faced her squarely. Sophie rested one hand on his shoulder, and he took the other in his solid grip. She didn’t want to lose herself. He was the one person in this town who made her feel vulnerable, and she didn’t like it.
“Mr. Tripp didn’t escort you tonight.”
“No.”
“Did you discourage him?”
She studied the marshal’s intense blue eyes, sensing no hostility. “Perhaps.”
“Shame.”
“For whom?”
“For him.”
She glanced into the throng of dancers with half a smile. “He doesn’t seem to be suffering any ill effects.”
His gaze followed hers. Louis was dancing with Rosie, his expression one of fascination while she gazed over his shoulder with an indifferent smile.
“You may be right,” the marshal agreed.
Sophie nodded. “I am.”
“I take it the dance lessons have been going well?”
She brought her attention to his face.
“The girls mentioned you were giving lessons.”
“Quite well,” she answered.
“I was wondering if you’d like to take a ride tomorrow afternoon.”
His invitation surprised her. “Horses?”
“Do you ride? I can rent a rig if you don’t.”
Sophie thought the idea over with battling degrees of longing and hesitation. Getting away from the city and seeing more of Cottonwood Valley than the train tracks would be a treat. She pictured peaceful landscapes and imagined an afternoon with less pretense to keep up. Agreeing to a tryst with this man didn’t set well however. As one of the city marshals, he was among the last people she should be dallying with.
She’d been toying with a notion, but recently it made more and more sense. Why avoid him? How much more unlikely was it that a fugitive would be right under the law’s nose all along? She was an expert at playing to people’s perceptions. She could be the person he wanted to see.
“I’ve always wanted to ride again,” she told him, imagining what a girl with her supposed history would say. “It’s been years. I’m afraid I don’t have appropriate attire, however.”
“How about we take the rig out tomorrow and then next week—after you’ve had time to find clothes—you can ride?”
“I would enjoy the opportunity to see some of
the countryside, Marshal.”
“Think you could call me Clay?”
They were so close she could feel the heat from his body. The scent of bay rum made her pulse throb in uncomfortable places. Clay. She nodded. The musicians wound down, and the dancers milled about, exchanging partners, going for refreshments.
Clay didn’t release her hand. She liked the feel of their entwined fingers entirely too much. “Do you have lunch plans?” he asked.
“No. I usually eat with the girls in the staff hall.”
“I could come early and we could have lunch out of doors together.”
She thought a minute. She didn’t want to sit in the dining hall with an audience. “I’ll purchase a picnic lunch. We can eat somewhere pretty.”
The fiddle player began a lively tune, and the piano man joined in. Pairs of dancers swirled around them.
“I have time for another dance before I make rounds,” he told her.
This time Sophie’s smile was genuine. Being with this man was a different experience than she’d ever known. He was a pleasant partner, agile for being so tall and broad, and his arms were hard and muscled.
Sophie spared a glance up at his face. She liked him. Enjoyed his company. Found herself interested in what he had to say, in what he thought. And it had nothing to do with keeping an eye on him or protecting her interests. That realization was new and surprising. She liked the scents and feelings she associated with him. That he was kind and respectful added to the mystery of the attraction and to her emerging pleasure. She’d never known a man who didn’t push his will on a woman.
Still she purposed not to become too lax in her guard. She might be in the last place anyone would expect her to be—in the marshal’s arms—but life had a way of turning the tables at any moment.
Sophie had to be prepared.
She secured her hat against the dry Kansas wind with a gloved hand and studied the landscape from the seat of the buggy. She’d traveled aplenty by train and stagecoach, always with a purpose, always with caution for what lay behind. She’d never deliberately set out for an afternoon of unhampered leisure.
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