Bill Golden appeared in the doorway, concern etched on his grizzled face. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Tilly considered her options. Travel by stagecoach was uncomfortable in the best of circumstances. The air was stifling, the bumpy conditions grueling and the chance for rest all but impossible.
“I don’t think she can travel.” Tilly wrapped her arms around her midriff. “Can you wait until she’s better?”
“I’m afraid not.” Bill scratched his forehead. “This here is a mail coach. The mail has to go through. The passengers are secondary.”
“When is the next stagecoach?”
“Thursday.”
“We can’t wait until Thursday.”
“I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”
Tilly’s shoulders sagged.
Nolan scowled. “I can’t have a bunch of greenhorns underfoot.”
Her stomach knotted, and she pictured Eleanor’s disapproving frown. The simple task of boarding the stagecoach in Virginia City, Montana, and exiting once they arrived in Omaha, had suddenly become a whole lot more complicated.
She clasped her hands before her. “Surely you can stay an hour or two. I’m certain Caroline will be much improved by then. This town doesn’t appear fit for children.”
“She’s right.” Nolan set his chin in a stubborn line. “This lady has no business being here.”
Her spine stiffened. This lady? This lady?
The way he said the words made her sound singularly incompetent. She narrowed her gaze. At least Eleanor and her father had a basis for their criticism. She certainly hadn’t traveled all this way to take orders from a man who knew nothing about her capabilities. The stagecoach man had no foundation for the contempt in his voice.
“You don’t have a choice, Mr. West,” Tilly challenged. “If Caroline is unable to travel, we’re staying put, and that’s that.”
“I’m in charge.” The stagecoach man propped his hands on his lean hips. “And I’ll have the last say.”
Chapter Two
So much for being in charge.
The day following the arrival of his unexpected guests, Nolan glanced up from placing a harness on the peg in the livery. A scrape sounded and Victoria appeared in the opening of the livery doors. Her two dark braids rested against her shoulders, and her blue calico dress was clean and neat with a starched apron tied around her waist, an improvement over her younger sister.
Nolan brushed at the phantom blueberry stain on his knee.
The girl jammed her hands in the pockets of her apron, stretching the material taut. “Whatcha doin?”
“Oiling the harnesses.”
“How come?”
“Because dry leather cracks and breaks. Oiled leather is stronger.”
“What happens if the leather breaks?”
“The horses get hurt.”
“Can I help?”
“I’m finished,” Nolan said.
Victoria grasped the oil can. “What’s this?”
“Machine oil.” Nolan reached for the tin and replaced the base in the circle in he’d drawn on the workbench. “For machines.”
He nudged the handle until the tin faced north.
“Oh.” Victoria plucked a tool from the wall. “What’s this?”
“Pincers.” Nolan retrieved the tool and hooked the handle on the nail in the silhouette he’d drawn on the wall. “For shoeing horses.”
“Are you a blacksmith?”
“No. But sometimes a horse will throw a shoe on the trail. I can do some basic repairs.”
“It sure is quiet in this town.”
“I like quiet.”
“Hmph.” Victoria tapped her chin. “Do you have any matches? I want to light a fire.”
“Stay away from fire.” Nolan slid his hand over the box on his workbench. He surreptitiously stowed the matches in his pocket. “Even with the rain, the buildings along Main Street are nothing but dry tinder.”
“I just wondered.” Victoria shrugged. “Aunt Tilly found some oil lamps.”
“Where did she find them?”
“She and Elizabeth are exploring the town while Caroline sleeps.”
“Your aunt sure keeps busy.”
“Mama said that Aunt Tilly needs activity like some other folks need water or air.”
“You don’t say.”
He’d managed to cover his outburst the previous afternoon with relatively little notice. He’d set up a cot in the livery, and let his guests take over the relay station. Mostly he’d spent his time avoiding Miss Hargreaves. She had a look in her eye that didn’t bode well. She kept staring at him as though he was a knot she wanted to unravel. He wouldn’t let her get to him like she’d gotten to Bill.
“I like Aunt Tilly,” Victoria said, “but I miss my mama.”
He was curious about the circumstances, but reluctant to pry. Pulling answers from a seven-year-old didn’t sit well with him. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Mama stayed behind to sell our furniture and stuff, but that’s not what she told Aunt Tilly,” the girl said matter-of-factly. “I don’t think Mama wants Aunt Tilly to know that we’re poor. Mama even sold our horse and our dollhouse. We’re going to live with our nanny and poppy in Omaha because Papa spent all our money and left us with a worthless gold mine. Mama said that she wasn’t surprised our pa died. She always said that gold fever was going to kill him. Can you catch gold fever?”
“No.” Nolan cleared his throat. “Sorry about your pa, too.”
He tugged on his collar. That was more information than he’d intended to learn. While he figured Eleanor ought to confide in her sister, pride was an emotion he understood all too well, and he certainly wasn’t the man to pass judgment on someone else.
“I’m glad you can’t catch gold fever,” Victoria said. “I don’t think Mama liked Pa very much. She complained that he worked all the time and made us live in Virginia City.”
“I’m sure she liked your pa just fine. Sometimes folks say things they don’t mean.”
An ear-splitting scream sounded from the direction of the abandoned hotel. Nolan’s chest tightened.
Victoria took off through the double doors in a dash but Nolan quickly outpaced the child. He crossed the street and vaulted over the boardwalk railing, then shoved open the door of the hotel. Frightened chatter reverberated from the recesses of the building.
He wove his way through the abandoned tables and chairs that littered the dining space and pushed into the kitchen. A small hand tugged on the hem of his shirt, leaving a purple print. A muscle throbbed in his temple.
The toddler seemed to have an endless supply of blackberries.
“Ti-wy,” Elizabeth said.
The little girl appeared unhurt, and his heartbeat slowed a notch.
“It’s all right.” He patted her head. “I’ll take care of this.”
Tilly perched atop a single chair with a broom held protectively before her.
“What is it?” Nolan demanded. “What’s happened?”
“In there.” Tilly gestured with her broom handle. “There’s something in the stove.”
He motioned with his hand. “Hand me the broom.”
While he’d known the hotel was equipped with a kitchen, he’d never explored the building. An enormous cast-iron stove took up most of the limited space. The chimney pipe exited through the ceiling, and light showed around the space.
Opposite the chimney, a bench and shelves lined the wall. The room smelled of neglect and dust coated every surface. The untidy mess triggered his unease, and he searched for something to ground him.
Disorder in the spaces surrounding him had a way of seeping into his mood. The previous owner had left behind only a
few dented pots and pans, along with some chipped plates and cups. He snatched a bandana from his back pocket and pinched the edge of a plate between the unsoiled fabric. With his fingers protected from the dust, he stacked one dish atop another, then repeated the process.
“What are you doing?” Tilly wore a scarf wrapped around her hair, pulling the chestnut mass away from her face. “I wasn’t shrieking my head off because the cupboards are in disarray!”
He nudged the handle of a cup toward the north, neatly folded his bandana and stuffed the square back in his pocket. “What’s the matter?”
Even the simple task of straightening the plates had a calming effect.
She urged him forward. “Take a look.”
The space between the workbench and the stove was narrow enough that she rested her hand on his shoulder and peered around him. The warmth of her touch seeped through his shirt and landed somewhere near his chest.
He grasped the broomstick once more and stuck the end through the oven handle. As the cast-iron door fell open, the rusted hinges squeaked. Tilly’s fingers tightened on his shoulder.
Something growled.
An enormous raccoon bared its teeth.
Nolan surged backward.
Tilly shrieked. From her perch on the chair, she leaned around Nolan and kicked shut the door. “I told you something was in there.”
“You can’t just trap the animal.” He splayed his hand to hold her back. “It’ll suffocate.”
Memories settled over him like a bleak dirge. He’d once spent an entire month in isolated confinement for a minor infraction of the rules. A month in complete and utter darkness with nothing but the scuttle of rats for company. His throat tightened painfully and he searched the open shelving behind Tilly’s head. There were four plates, an even number, and the handles on the cups faced north. Restoring order forced calm. If he spun the last plate clockwise, he wouldn’t even see the chip on the edge.
Tilly’s face swam before him. “Thank you for coming to our rescue, Mr. West. That animal startled me. Not what I was expecting to find during our explorations.”
“Explorations?” he said.
“Yes. Aren’t you simply fascinated by this town? Think of all the stories people left behind. Haven’t you ever wondered about who lived here and what they dreamed about?”
Frustrated by his inability to control the actions of others, he offered a curt “No.”
“I do.”
There was a gentleness and a guileless optimism about her that had been missing from his life for a very long time. An eternity. Part of him wanted to reach for the soothing comfort of her limitless hope in the world, but any thoughts in that direction were folly. He needed the distance. Nolan tore his gaze from the vulnerability in her clear eyes and stared at the dusty shelves.
Four plates. An even number. Even numbers symbolized order. With Tilly and the girls staring at him, he couldn’t very well scrub the dusty surfaces. They’d think he’d gone mad for tidying an abandoned building. He’d wind up like his aunt Vicky, who lived near his aunt Edith in Cimarron Springs. Aunt Vicky kept fifteen goats and dressed them up on special occasions. He needed to be alone because hiding his affliction only increased his anxiety.
“I wouldn’t waste time thinking about a bunch of strangers,” he snapped. “I don’t know why you’d want to meet a bunch of fool people who built a town without checking to see if there was actually gold in the river.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said, a thread of hurt weaving through her voice. “Still, they must have loved adventure to go to all this trouble for a chance at gold.”
The adventure hadn’t turned out well for her brother-in-law, but Nolan doubted she’d made the connection. That was the problem with optimists. They ignored the facts that didn’t fit their rosy picture.
“Never mind,” he said. Her wounded eyes had him feeling like a first-rate heel. “Let’s see about this raccoon. I think there’s a reason she’s taken up residence in the kitchen stove.”
“The raccoon is a girl?” Tilly laughed. “I didn’t realize the two of you had met before.”
She leaned over his shoulder, and her cheek brushed against his ear. His pulse thrummed. She must have rinsed her hair in lavender water that morning, and the delicate scent overwhelmed his senses. He’d forgotten how much he missed the simplest pleasures of female companionship: the soft laughter, the swish of skirts, the way they made even the starkest places feel like home.
Home. This wasn’t his home, not permanently, and he didn’t need a bunch of folks crowding up the place.
“Your raccoon is definitely female.” Nolan focused his thoughts and eased the oven door open once more. “Look.”
Four tiny pairs of black eyes shimmered in the ambient kitchen light.
“Babies.” Tilly’s lips parted in a gasp, and her warm exhale puffed against his neck. “Now what?”
The mother hissed and they both sprang back. Tilly teetered and he automatically caught her around the waist. His breath hitched. She was soft and yielding and undeniably feminine. Once she was steady, he swiftly released his hold.
“It’s up to you,” Nolan said. “If you really want, I can relocate them, but there’s a good chance the mother will reject the babies if they’re moved.”
“No!” Caroline called from the doorway. “You can’t kill them, Aunt Tilly. They’re just babies.”
“You’re awake!” Tilly exclaimed. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much better.”
“That’s wonderful.” The relief in Tilly’s voice was obvious. “We’ll be able to leave on Thursday.”
Clearly she wanted out of Pyrite as much as he wanted them to go. The thought should have relieved him. Instead, her words left a deep, hollow ache in his chest. He’d lost his tolerance for people, though he hadn’t entirely lost the need for human connection. Yet the longer they stayed, the more he risked revealing his eccentricities. He couldn’t stomach watching their regard turn to disgust, or, worse yet, feel their ridicule.
Tilly took the broom from him. “If you don’t want them harmed, Caroline, then we’ll leave them be. It’s almost suppertime—we should go anyway.”
As they emerged into the dining room, a shadow passed before the front window. The five of them paused. The outline of a rider trotted down Main Street. The hollow thud of hoofbeats drifted through the partially open door.
An icy knot of fear settled in the pit of Nolan’s stomach. A lone rider around these parts was unusual. Most folks traveled in pairs or groups through Indian country. There was safety in numbers.
Tilly squinted through the filthy glass. “I didn’t think the cavalry would be on patrol again this soon.”
“That isn’t the cavalry,” Nolan replied, his expression grim.
Chapter Three
Tilly scrubbed at the grubby pane. Two more riders trotted past. Beside her, Nolan’s posture grew rigid and his expression was tense.
He urged her away from the window and held his index finger before his lips. “Stay inside,” he said. “Don’t come out unless I call for you.”
“But Captain Ronald said the outlaws couldn’t cross the river without being seen,” she whispered. “That must be someone else, right?”
“The captain says a lot of things.” Nolan yanked his gun from his holster, spun the chamber, then squinted along the barrel before replacing the weapon. “There’s more than one rider. Stay out of sight. No matter what happens to me, stay hidden.”
“You sound worried.” Her heart beat a rapid tattoo against her chest. “Why are you worried?”
“It’s probably nothing, but follow my orders, just in case.”
Yesterday when the cavalry officer had warned her of danger, she’d been frightened. His assurances of safety had bee
n confident, but he’d unleashed a nagging concern. When the stagecoach was moving, she felt safer, more secure. Stranded in this lonely town, they were vulnerable.
Nolan touched her sleeve and she stared at the spot where his fingers grazed the material. Though they’d only been in Pyrite for twenty-four hours, some things had become obvious immediately. More often than not, he kept his distance, moving out of her reach and avoiding her at every turn.
He kept a physical distance, but she sensed his protectiveness, his awareness of them. When she’d been startled by the raccoon, he’d been at her side in an instant. Yet she sensed his annoyance. As with Eleanor and her father, he seemed to find her inquisitiveness irritating. Despite the contradictions in his character, he inspired a curious reaction within her.
When he gazed at her with those intriguing hazel eyes, she was instantly tongue-tied.
“Don’t come out of hiding until those men are gone,” he said. “There’s another gun in a box under the bed at the relay station. If anything happens to me, wait for them to leave, then lock yourselves up tight and wait for the next stagecoach. There are plenty of supplies.”
Her knees turned watery. Surely he was exaggerating. There was no reason to assume the men outside meant them any harm. Captain Ronald’s regiment was keeping a watch out for the outlaws. They’d know if something had happened. She glanced at the girls and quickly masked her expression. They had an alarming ability to read her moods.
“Let’s keep an eye on the raccoon.” Tilly urged the girls back toward the kitchen once more. “We should be extra-special quiet. We don’t want to frighten her.”
Victoria took Elizabeth’s pudgy hand. “We’ll be quiet. But what about the riders? What if they make noise?”
The girl’s curious expression, so like Eleanor’s, betrayed her skepticism. Victoria knew the distraction was about more than keeping an eye on the raccoon.
“Mr. West will take care of everything,” Tilly said. “Don’t worry.”
A Temporary Family Page 3