Nick flipped the letter over as if the message were written more clearly on the back. “I’d heard that the county commissioner had died.”
“Richard Garrard?” Harold nodded. “Gored by his bull.”
Nick barely heard him, his mind whirling to make sense of the contents. “According to this it’s the judge’s duty to appoint another commissioner to serve until the next election. He requested that I step in.”
“You? A county commissioner?” Harold’s eyes rolled heavenward. “How can we expand the business if you’re busy scampering around for the county?”
Nick tossed the letter onto his desk. “Which is why I’ll decline. This bid could double our income. We can’t afford to be distracted while stalking the elusive Mr. Karber.”
A door in the front office opened. Harold’s eyes widened. Nicholas took a quick inventory of his office—ferns green and healthy, spittoon hidden behind the velvet drapes, lamps trimmed. The room appeared to be in order for their guest, which was fortunate because Ophelia Stanford noticed everything. Generally this caused Nick no hardship beyond the fact that she expected to be noticed, too.
“Mrs. Stanford,” he bellowed, as if announcing her arrival at the Cotton Festival cotillion.
Her entry was just as grand. Hands clasped gently in front of her, elbows floating a distance from herself as though escorted by a gallant on each side, Mrs. Stanford crossed the Persian rug she’d chosen for his office and presented a cheek for his customary greeting.
He smacked the air, remembering to breathe through his nose so as to avoid the taste of the lilac-scented powder swirling around her.
Harold quietly returned to his office.
“I haven’t finished the report for your husband, but progress looks to be ahead of schedule.” Nicholas ushered her to the leather chair sitting before his desk.
“That’s pleasing news. Is there ample timber for ties, or will we need to purchase lumber?”
Nicholas took the chair opposite her, remembering that she didn’t like to speak to him over his desk. “That depends. Most of the trees along this portion of the route are pine. Some cottonwood grows that could be useful, but even it will need to be replaced in a couple of years. If you use hardwood the expense will be considerably more. On an unproven route, it would be a gamble.”
With precision, Ophelia adjusted the lace at her wrist. “We could build an inferior track of cottonwood and pine and then see if the proceeds merit a larger investment. If this line turns a profit, we build a stronger track parallel and then with switches we’d be able to run both directions, even if the outlet was in bad repair.”
No wonder Mr. Stanford didn’t mind his wife interfering in business. Given the chance, she would’ve been a success without him.
“My thoughts exactly. And once we break through the forest, I’ll have my men go back to the more wooded areas. They won’t be needed to clear the trees, but you’ll need the ties at a faster rate.”
“Sounds like your report is nearly complete, and that’s good because I didn’t come here to discuss business. I came to get a scintillating firsthand report of the train holdup. You can imagine how overcome by curiosity I’ve been since I learned of your adventure.”
Nicholas rested his elbow atop the chair arm. “I suppose you talked to the conductor and the engineer?”
“I haven’t seen their reports yet, but I have heard from some ladies who mentioned a passenger who displayed uncommon heroism. Imagine my surprise when I reconciled the dashing account with my mild-mannered lumber supplier.”
Nicholas snorted. “Mild-mannered? Of all the things I’ve been called—”
“Now, don’t misdirect me. I want a full account. How did the attack start? When were you first aware?”
When was it? Mrs. Tillerton had bolted and he was chasing her. Next thing he knew he was thrown against her so closely he could see the flecks of blue in her gray eyes. He could distinguish each eyelash that curled beneath her brows.
“Who was she?”
Nicholas blinked, bringing Ophelia’s image into sharp focus. “I beg your pardon. I was trying to remember—”
“She must have been beautiful. I don’t think I’ve ever caught you in a reverie before.” Ophelia’s narrow lips were pursed. Her head tilted sympathetically. “Straight from the schoolroom, pure white skin plump with youth, dress flounced with more petticoats than she’s seen years. Experience hasn’t taught her to guard her laugh. No depth to prevent her from instant familiarity. I know her well.”
He filled his lungs in a long breath of the lilac cloud. You don’t know her at all, he wanted to protest. But prudence restrained him.
“How could I not be distracted with Garber’s fairest aboard?” He swung his foot easily. “Mr. Walcher’s daughter Susan had secured tickets for herself and some companions, little realizing that their lark would encounter violence. Yes, they required my full attention, and regretfully I didn’t foresee the trouble in time to be of assistance.”
“But you assisted Miss Walcher, I understand, and at great peril.”
His foot swung a little faster at the memory, grateful that Miss Walcher preferred the version where he was the rescuer instead of the rescued. “Oh that.” He shrugged. “Instinctual, I suppose. Didn’t realize what I’d done until I felt that pistol barrel against my head.”
Ophelia leaned forward and grasped Nick’s arm. “Don’t ever do that again. To risk your life . . . You must take better care of yourself, Nicholas. Especially now with so much on the horizon.”
Her smile hinted at a great surprise. Nick shifted in his seat. Maybe he should have been more grateful to Mrs. Tillerton for saving his neck, especially when life promised so much.
“Now that you mention it, I did have a surprise awaiting me. It seems that Judge Calloway has appointed me as a county commissioner. Can you imagine? Naturally, I have to turn it down.”
“Turn it down?” Fine lines appeared around Ophelia’s frowning lips. “Whatever for?”
Why had he mentioned it? Oh well. Too late to reverse course. If he signed a contract with Mr. Karber, the Stanfords would know it sooner or later.
“I’m considering an expansion. Mr. Karber mentioned that he was extending his southeast line and could use another crew. I’m meeting with him tomorrow, and I wouldn’t want to take on additional duties that could interfere with my plans.”
Mrs. Stanford rose. She glided to the window behind his desk and gazed upon the street below. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you want to grow. Your ambition was the first quality that attracted us to you, along with your honesty—a trait desperately needed in government. Perhaps we could find an alternative.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t refuse so hastily. Being appointed to a political office is an honor that could lead to astonishing opportunities. And what if Mr. Karber doesn’t accept your bid and you’ve thrown away this chance for naught?”
“But I intend to expand eventually. The flaws have been worked out of my operation. Why would I stop with only one crew?”
Her lashes quivered as she came to a decision. “Then get another crew, but forget about finding new partners. Ian is planning another line even now. We could use your services there. Without having the trouble of hammering out new terms and expectations, you’ll have plenty of time for your county duties.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like being pushed toward a decision. Besides the increased profit that diversification would bring, he also wanted to lessen his dependence on the NTT Railroad. The Stanfords, Ophelia in particular, could be difficult to please, and Nick could foresee the day when he’d tire of the dance. Still, wasn’t the sure promise of more business better than the gamble of securing new clients? New commissioners would be elected in a few months. Surely he could coast until then, or if he got in over his head, he could always resign before any harm came to his business.
“Another line, you say? When do we break ground?”
>
Every good hunter knows that the trick to finding game involves predicting where their prey feels most at home. Buffalo, rabbits, foxes—they all skedaddle to their lair when pursued. Errant cooks would be no different. And Anne was an excellent hunter.
From the moment she spotted the Velvet Palace, Anne knew with disgusted certainty that Tessa called it home. As soon as the bartender finished with his noon customers, she had her question answered, then jaunted up a painted staircase to stand in Tessa’s doorway.
Finding her had been the easy part. Convincing her to return would take patience, and patience wasn’t Anne’s strong suit. If Tessa would only stand still long enough to hear her plea, but she obviously didn’t have time for Anne or for the infant who pulled on her skirt as she preened in the mirror.
Anne watched the child with fascinated horror. The baby. His presence threatened to undo her, especially in the cramped bedroom, so similar to one she’d learned to loathe, but Tessa couldn’t know how her stomach churned at the sight of him.
“I’m so glad you found me, Anne. This baby is bound and determined to ruin my life. Eddie said that he won’t step out with me if I bring Sammy again.” Tessa licked her finger and then pressed it to her eyelashes, curling them upward.
“Eddie? I thought you came to town to find Finn.” Anne tried to open the window to dilute the dank air, but it was nailed shut.
Tessa snorted. “Finn Cravens better hope I don’t find him, that scoundrel. If I ever lay eyes on him, I’m handing him his son and running for the hills. How dare he leave me with a baby—”
Anne frowned. “Go back to Pushmataha. Anoli needs a cook and the men enjoy having Sammy around. A room above a saloon is no place to raise a whelp.”
Tessa turned away from the mirror. “You’re right about that. Eddie’s asked me to go with him out west. It’ll be tough at first—”
“—but better Sammy be on the frontier than here.”
With a hand to her hip, Tessa stared at the child. Savoring his mother’s attention—which Anne feared was rarely awarded—Sammy babbled “Ma-ma-ma” as he bounced vigorously on his haunches. His soiled diaper gapped around his chubby legs.
“Fix him for me, will you, Anne?”
“Fix him? You mean change his . . . his . . .” Anne twisted her mouth to the side. “I’m a buffalo hunter. I might take the hide right off him.”
Tessa tossed her a slightly damp diaper and flipped Sammy onto his back. “Nonsense. I’ve seen you covered in filth. You won’t mind nearly as much as I do.” She pushed him toward Anne, whose hands hovered above him, not sure where to start . . . not sure if she could start.
“I don’t know what to do,” Tessa continued. “If Finn had any family I’d send Sammy to them, but he’s an orphan. My own family is out of the question. I’d rather he be raised by coyotes than endure what I went through.”
Gingerly, Anne laid a hand on his stomach and unclasped the safety pins. She had no sympathy for the whining woman, not while trying to keep two kicking legs from landing in the mess. Using the front of the diaper she wiped him off the best she could before rolling up the soggy cloth and replacing it.
“How do you pin this? I could do it up tight, but he’d have saddle sores by morning.”
Leaning against her bureau, Tessa didn’t answer at first, but feeling Anne’s disapproval she snapped to. “Oh, he’ll be fine. It’s time for his nap. Just give him a spoonful of Godfrey’s Cordial, and he won’t move until this evening.”
Anne straightened. “Give him a sleeping draught? He’s an infant. Besides, I’m not watching him.”
“You don’t have anywhere else to stay, do you?”
With a glare Anne bent to clasp the second pin and then lifted the child to his feet. Holding onto the bed for support, Sammy squealed at her and then laughed delightedly when the diaper slid to his ankles. Anne wasn’t amused.
“Listen to me, Tessa Drumright. Sammy is your responsibility. You can’t put him in a stupor while you go out. It isn’t right.”
Tessa wrung her hands. “You’re right, of course. Sammy needs a better home. He needs a better mother. I’m not good for him. Surely you agree.”
“But you could be. You decide what kind of person you’re going to be, and you be that person. If you want to be friendly, you talk to people. If you want to be strong, you keep your distance. If you want to be a good mother, you stop chasing after men like a lovesick polecat and take care of the kit you already have.”
“Easy for you to say.” Tessa picked up a powder puff and dusted her bosom. “You don’t mind being lonely, but I need a companion. I want attention.”
There were worse ills than loneliness. The child swatted at Anne’s knee and grinned impishly. His white-blond hair fell in long wisps across his forehead, just like his father’s. Finn’s devil-may-care attitude had been frustrating to work with when running alongside a stampeding herd of buffalo, but back at the depot he’d had the gift of spinning windies. Tessa in particular had found him charming. Two years and a child later, she wasn’t as impressed.
Sammy plopped onto the floor and began to explore on all fours. No matter what Tessa thought, Anne didn’t enjoy the prospect of going through life alone. The choice had been made only when all other options had proven too dangerous.
“Well, you aren’t going to find a cook sitting in the room.” Tessa clasped a string of beads around her neck. “Why don’t you go downstairs and ask around the kitchen? There are a few establishments on the other side of the square that might know of someone looking for work.”
“You won’t come back to Pushmataha?”
“No. My heart belongs to Eddie. I’m going with him.”
Silence fell. Tessa lifted a pick to her hair and jabbed at a tangle. Anne winced. Better to be attached to a job than a man.
“I guess I have no choice if I want to go back on the hunt.”
“But you are coming back?” Tessa asked. “You’re staying here tonight, right?”
Ugh. But once you found your target you stayed with them until they were bagged. “I’ll stay here and hope I can talk some sense into you before I leave tomorrow.”
Some of the tension that Anne had carried beneath her duster had faded away. Her mission had been successful. Took most of the afternoon, but she’d finally found a cook and purchased the widow-woman’s ticket to Pushmataha. Tomorrow they’d board the train together and head back to the depot. By the next evening she’d be on her bedroll, gazing up at the stars sprinkled generously across the sky, away from the curious stares of strangers. Back to the life she’d created for herself.
Speaking of strangers . . .
Footsteps sounded behind her as she marched across the squares of light thrown through the saloon windows onto the boardwalk. She paused at the batwing doors, and the steps halted. In a motion that was universally understood, she slid her right hand inside her duster to her hip, where the smooth handle of her six-shooter met her fingers.
“I wouldn’t do that if I was you,” the voice behind her called.
Anne remembered to deepen her voice. “Are you going to shoot me in the back?”
“The lawmen of Garber don’t shoot citizens unprovoked. Turn around slow.”
Anne extended her arms to her sides and turned to face a scowling young deputy.
“Evidently Garber lawmen don’t mind harassing visitors.”
He didn’t answer until he’d looked her over. His dark beard wasn’t quite grown in but accomplished what he no doubt wished by covering his youthful face.
“Visitors are invited and last time I checked the guest list it didn’t include a woman masquerading as a man. I’m only looking for a chance to become better acquainted with a new face in my town.”
Anne stiffened. His words could be misinterpreted by a woman. What were his intentions?
His face reddened and he stammered. “Just tell me your business and I’ll leave you to it.”
“I’m a buffalo hunter out of
Pushmataha. Anoli Parker, our outfit leader, sent me here to find a cook for the depot. First train north, I’m headed out.”
“A buffalo hunter?” He nodded. “Then welcome to Garber. I hope your stay is pleasant and your journey home uneventful.” He tipped his hat and reversed course.
“A train ride without the holdup would be nice,” she muttered and continued on to Tessa’s apartment.
A thin scrap of the sun’s disk hung behind the row of buildings. No possibility of watching it all the way to the horizon. Out on the plain, it was Anne’s favorite time of day. Physically exhausted, Anne would toss her saddle on the ground away from the fellas, rest her head in the seat, and wait for the sky to fade. She’d catch snippets of their ribald stories, a song on the harmonica, low laughter, and she was at peace. Under Anoli’s protection, none of them dared mess with her. She was safe from everything—except her memories.
If the stars were bright enough, the music lively enough, and it’d been a good day, Anne could almost imagine that she’d come to buffalo hunting straight from her home in Ohio. Bull’s-Eye Annie leaving school to chase down the stampeding herds and clear the land for the settlers.
But most days her few years of bondage as Jay Tillerton’s wife erased anything that came before and overshadowed everything that came afterwards. No relationship was untainted from her fear of once again falling under the influence of an evil man. No exchange escaped assessment.
She’d do whatever was required to remain free, and her best defense involved her disappearance from society. The sooner she could get out of town and back to the isolated outpost, the better.
Certain that Tessa wouldn’t have any plans to feed her, Anne walked into the saloon on the ground floor of Tessa’s apartment. The bartender stood behind a row of glasses, drying them one by one with a wadded cotton rag. Without looking up he asked, “What’ll it be?”
“What grub do you have for supper?”
His head popped up. “A woman in britches? That would make you Tessa’s friend. Well, you’re late and I don’t appreciate it.” He set the glass down with a thump before picking up the next. “It’s not my place to play nursemaid.”
Caught in the Middle (Ladies of Caldwell County Book #3) Page 3