Caught in the Middle (Ladies of Caldwell County Book #3)

by Regina Jennings

  “Listen, mister. Tessa is not my problem and her son even less so. If she left him with you, I had nothing to do with it. I tried telling her she shouldn’t be leaving him at all.”

  “Well, that’s what she’s done. Her and that drifter Eddie Starkley have pulled up stakes and skipped town. If the stagecoach driver hadn’t come in to wet his whistle, I wouldn’t have got the room lease out of the two of them.”

  “Stagecoach?” Anne placed both hands flat against the bar and leaned forward. “You don’t mean—”

  “Gone. They hightailed it out and told me you were the child’s new ma. Poor kid never stood a chance with that flighty woman.” The bartender paused to scrutinize her thoroughly. “Can’t say you’ll do any better.”

  Anne sputtered. “She left without the kid? She can’t do that. I’ve got to go back to Pushmataha tomorrow.” Her eyes went so dry she couldn’t blink. Her fingernails dug into the bar. “Where is he?”

  The man turned the glass around the rag until it squeaked. “Maude is upstairs with him. Cute little pup. Congratulations.”

  Anne couldn’t respond. Who gets congratulated for a disaster? These people didn’t think she wanted him, did they? She ran up the steps, swung around the finial, raced down the hall, and burst into Tessa’s room. The sleeping baby jolted awake and sat upright. His face screwed into a wrinkled mess and opened to emit a monstrous howl.

  “Shh . . .” The woman glared at her. “I just got him down.” Sighing, she gathered her knitting. “He’s your problem now.”

  “Wait! I don’t know—”

  But the woman didn’t give her a chance to continue. Anne stood in the doorway, watched the tears pool in the boy’s eyes, and almost shed a few of her own. She spun around the room, taking in the empty wardrobe, the bare vanity; even the pillowcase had been removed. All she could do was sit and watch him howl.

  “Go on and cry. Your momma left you. You have every right.” Should she track down Tessa? It wouldn’t be difficult. Even once they left civilization, Anne could strap the cub on her back like a papoose and follow Tessa anywhere.

  But then what would his prospects be?

  His round little face grew redder as he worked himself into a fit. Tessa didn’t want him. Her new beau resented him. What would happen to Sammy out on the frontier with no one watching? What had Anne suffered as an adult when people should have noticed? At least Tessa had given him a chance of having a family that wanted him.

  Hadn’t Anne survived growing up without a mother? Her pa had seen that she had a roof over her head. He didn’t offer much by way of guidance or affection, but she’d learned to take care of herself. If she could, couldn’t a boy?

  She would find his pa. If Finn Cravens wanted to put his child in an orphanage, that was his business, but he deserved the opportunity to do better by the boy. Who knew? He might change his ways when he realized that he was solely responsible for a baby. Stranger things had happened.

  Anne knew nothing about caring for babies, but surely she could keep him alive until his father could be tracked.

  4

  The next morning Anne practically exploded out of the saloon with one arm tucked around Sammy’s chest, holding him against her, and the other bearing the weight of two knapsacks, a food parcel, and a baby blanket. Sammy flailed his arms upward and squirmed until his chin was hung in the elbow of her thick duster, his gown pulled up beneath his armpits.

  “Stop it, Sammy, or I’m going to drop you.”

  A woman gasped and stopped on the boardwalk to glare.

  Anne wished she didn’t feel the need to defend herself, but she did. “It’s a prediction, not a threat. I wouldn’t purposely drop him.”

  “What a relief,” the woman sneered. “It’ll be a comfort knowing when he hits the ground it was an accident. I only wonder how the poor babe survived this long under your care.”

  Anne wrinkled her nose at the snooty bat, and with a bounce of her hip repositioned Sammy into a more manageable hold. She’d stayed ahead of a stampeding buffalo herd. She’d survived a spring storm with hail the size of tomatoes, but nothing had exhausted her like getting Sammy ready for an outing.

  This baby required more gear than a whole troop of buffalo hunters.

  She hoped the new cook would relay her message to Anoli and that he’d waste no time finding Finn. Until then she had to locate a safe place where they could stay while she waited, preferably with someone who didn’t mind lending a hand with the boy. Surely there was a widow woman with a boardinghouse nearby.

  Papers waved from a notice board tacked up across the way. Anne looked up and down the street before trudging across. The writhing child against her bosom hampered her usually acute perception. A horse could barrel down the road right on top of them, and she’d never hear it coming. Not over the kid’s grunts.

  Her glance skittered over the various advertisements and legal proclamations until she spotted what she’d been looking for. She recognized the street as one she’d crossed when leaving the train depot. Not a far distance she hoped.

  Sammy fussed. He crammed his fist in his mouth. There’d be no place to get him food between the main street and the neighborhood, but once at the boardinghouse she could get him some milk or even figure out the strange powder Tessa had left behind with the glass bottles and rubber nipples. As long as he didn’t see the bottles again. When she’d pulled them out of his knapsack, he’d started fussing. When she put them back without feeding him, he’d gone berserk.

  By the time she knocked on the door of the tidy house, Sammy was throwing a royal tantrum. The peephole slid open, Anne was inspected, and then the door moved cautiously.

  “How might I help you?”

  Anne bounced Sammy on her hip, hoping he’d shush and she could be heard.

  “I’d like to let a room.”

  One eyebrow rose on a humorless face. “Excuse me . . . er, ma’am?”

  Anne shifted Sammy to her opposite side and let her knapsacks slide down to her boots. “It’d only be for a day or two while I find the kid’s father. I don’t plan to stay long—”

  The woman’s chin lifted. “My boardinghouse serves only the finest clientele. Women dressed in men’s clothing, toting around illegitimate children, are not welcome.”

  “He’s not illegitimate.” Anne stopped. “Well, actually he is, but he’s not mine, and I had nothing to do with this mess. His mother left him—”

  “Your appearance would distress my boarders. I’m sorry, but I’m unable to help you.”

  With that the door slammed firmly in her face.

  Sammy slurped on his fist, still hungry. Anne drew a long breath, picked up the bag, and trudged back toward town. She’d have to buy them a meal after all, which meant that more than likely Sammy was headed back to the Velvet Palace.

  Wednesday afternoons mustn’t be a busy time for county government, because the halls of the courthouse were nearly vacant. Nicholas gave his name to the judge’s assistant. “I was told to report to Judge Calloway. Is he busy?”

  “Of course he’s busy.” The assistant rubbed his eyes beneath smudged glasses and then motioned to a chair.

  Nick sat and flicked a speck of sawdust off his trousers. He’d thought he’d sent all his traveling clothes to the washwoman, but he must have missed some. Had Ophelia not noticed? She always expected perfection from those in her circle of society. Not that the Stanfords were what his mother would call society. No, they’d climbed the ranks on wooden ties like those he provided, but in the meantime he was riding along in their wake, following the path they’d blazed.

  A bell hanging on the wall suddenly dipped, its mellow chime disturbing the office. The assistant sat a bit straighter. “Mr. Lovelace, Judge Calloway will see you now.”

  Nick straightened his cravat and strode to the massive door with heavy brass trimmings just beyond the assistant’s desk. Taking the curved knob in his hand, he opened the door.

  There was a flurry of activity at a s
econd door behind the judge’s desk. The judge pushed it closed and turned with fire in his eyes.

  “You didn’t knock.”

  Nick’s mouth went dry. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. You rang for me. I thought—”

  But Judge Calloway strode to his desk without further comment. He picked up a pen and began scribbling furiously, ignoring Nick’s contrition.

  Even without the robe that hung on the hook behind him, everyone recognized the judge. He had more hair than a wigmaker, combed in golden swoops over his temples and forehead.

  Nick eyed the chairs positioned before him. Better not risk it. Instead he studied the wall hangings, various documents with thick gold seals declaring that the man before him was entitled to make you wait. Latin. Not his best subject in school.

  “Sit,” the judge finally said.

  “Yes, sir.” In two strides he reached the chair. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I didn’t know—”

  “There are times when I must trust my instinct. I believe I’ve found the right man for the job, and I solemnly hope you won’t disappoint me.”

  Nicholas clasped his hands together and sat as proper as a choirboy. “We share that hope, sir. I couldn’t imagine why you’d think to honor me—”

  “As you know, Commissioner Garrard died unexpectedly. Ghastly. And so despite my numerous contacts I decided to turn to someone untested. This situation could use fresh insights. Under normal circumstances I’d wait until after the election when the new commissioners are installed, but there’s a vote that we are anxious to get settled. It’s about a bridge.”

  “The Choctaw River Bridge?” Nicholas leaned forward. “I’ve heard talk over it.”

  “It’s been debated by this commission for the better part of a year, and the vote is scheduled for next month. Everyone wants it settled before a new slate of county commissioners comes in and decides to revisit all the findings. I’ve been a judge for twenty-two years and can’t remember any committee vote that’s seen more controversy. I hope you’ll see the issue through.”

  “Me? I’m going to vote on the bridge? Are you saying—”

  “You are reported to be an intelligent man. Your experience with the construction of the railroads and your knowledge of the various forms of transportation to and from Garber make your appointment as county commissioner a logical choice.”

  “I don’t know how much time I have to research—”

  “Commissioner Garrard’s office is already empty. Considering the brief span that we will require your services, you might want to minimize any changes to the décor.”

  Nick wouldn’t change the décor. He might not have time to check the mail. “There could be a conflict. This is a busy month for me. Mr. Stanford is expanding his business, and I don’t have much time to spare.”

  “You should find Mr. Stanford willing to wait.” The judge studied him through sparse eyelashes. “Now, learn what you need to know about this bridge, so this issue can be put to rest. The vote is at the end of October.”

  “Yes, sir.” What did he know about building bridges or commissioners’ meetings or county government? Still, it was a simple vote. Yes or no. His vote might not even make a difference.

  The judge cleared his throat, reminding Nicholas that he hadn’t left.

  “Sorry, sir.” He hurried out of the room, unsettled by the thought that he may have committed to more than he’d expected. And yet, a vote on a bridge couldn’t affect his ability to process lumber into railroad ties. As long as his crews and machinery were working, what happened at the courthouse couldn’t touch him.

  The smell of spilt liquor oozed out of the dirty floors. Anne sat in the Velvet Palace, her back against the wall, and cradled Sammy. After downing two bottles of milk the baby was slowing, getting drowsy as he lolled the nipple around his mouth. The day was half gone and she’d accomplished nothing besides spending many of her precious coins and attracting attention from a table of poker players.

  She couldn’t make out what they were saying exactly, but every now and then play would halt, jeers would fly her way, and the table would roar with laughter. Best to ignore them. Or ignore them while taking inventory of their features and whatever arms they carried. She’d want to recognize them should they cross paths again.

  With a sigh, Sammy gave in to sleep. His warmth made Anne’s eyelids heavy, too. She leaned her head against the wall. If only she had somewhere to close her eyes for an hour. Babies didn’t sleep much at night, at least this one hadn’t, and neither had she.

  “Can I help you?”

  Anne bolted awake. She hugged Sammy to her as the table erupted into hoots of laughter. Before her stood who could only be the saloon manager. He was a wide man, soft with a thick beard reaching to his chest.

  “No, sir. I’ll be on my way.”

  “Is this Tessa’s boy?”

  Anne took the bottle from Sammy’s hands. “I don’t reckon that’s any of your business.”

  He shrugged. “I’d heard she’d left him with you. Where are you staying?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “We have rooms.”

  Anne’s eyes flickered to the men at the table. They were awfully quiet. Too quiet to be doing anything besides eavesdropping.

  “I don’t want to stay here. Not with a baby.”

  “A few of our ladies have children. In fact, they don’t mind helping each other out when necessary.”

  By intoxicating their babies with cordial? But where else would she and Sammy sleep that night?

  “How much for a room?”

  He gathered her dirty dishes. “Let’s see what we’ve got first. Follow me.”

  Anne hefted Sammy’s weight into her left arm so her right was free if she needed it, but once in the kitchen the man dropped the dishes into the sink and escorted her to the staircase leading up to where Tessa’s room had been. “Where’d you get that outfit?”

  “I’m a buffalo hunter.”

  “Unconventional but not unattractive.”

  The sleeve garters dimpled into his soft arms. He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and unlocked a door just down the hall from where she’d found Tessa.

  “How much?” The nightstand and wardrobe wouldn’t be of any use, but the bed looked inviting.

  “Free if you could help downstairs. We’re shorthanded tonight.”

  “If I wanted to cook I would’ve never left my buffalo outfit.”

  “How about waiting tables? We’ll be busy in a few hours.”

  “I didn’t see any women serving.”

  “The ladies don’t come in until evening. By then you’ll be ready to have someone else entertain the child.” He grasped the brass ring on the wardrobe and swung open the heavily varnished door. “If you work in front of the customers you will need to wear a dress.” He tossed a bouquet of bright colors and gathers onto the bed.

  Anne nestled Sammy in the thin mattress and lifted the dress gingerly. Not much to it—one piece, buttoned up the front with a loose cut, but it was a dress. She didn’t wear dresses anymore. Not since her husband had died.

  “No, thank you,” she said.

  “And why not?”

  “I prefer my clothes.” Although the velvet felt much finer beneath her fingers than her old canvas duster. She dropped it on the bed.

  “Try it on. You’d be surprised how comfortable it is. We don’t expect our ladies to work all trussed up like a roasting pig.”

  Every bone in her body rebelled against the thought. Dressing up, looking pretty, only led to trouble. Still, she needed a place to stay for a few days. If the rest of the women wore similar gowns there’d be no reason for her to stand out.

  “I’ll try it on.” She held it before her and bit her lip. “I suppose you’d want me to get started immediately.”

  The man nodded. “We’ll show you around until the supper crowd drags in.”

  The boy was sleeping, and if she didn’t get a place to stay, she’d go another night wit
hout rest.

  As soon as he stepped out of the room, she turned the lock on the door and unbuckled her gun belt. She sat on the bed and unlaced her high boots, dropped her drawers, and shrugged out of her duster and buckskin shirt. Her underthings were in sad disrepair. They’d never do beneath a fine dress, but this looked more like a bright, festive sack. Another reason she could wear it.

  She pulled the frilly gown over her head. It fell easily around her shoulders. Impressive. Anne didn’t have much experience with ladies’ clothing, but she’d never imagined anything as simple to put on or remove as this dress. Five buttons up the front and a sash around the waist. She didn’t like the capped sleeves that left most of her arms exposed. And this dress was too short by far. The hem barely reached the tops of her slouchy socks. No, that wouldn’t do.

  The man knocked at the door. “Let’s see how you look.”

  Anne’s heart skipped. “It doesn’t fit.” She stepped in front of the mirror and her mouth dropped. The gown’s loose fit left the scooping neckline gapping. If it weren’t for her chemise, she would’ve been totally exposed. Did their help really dress like this?

  The doorknob rattled. “Let me judge. Open up.”

  Anne snatched her trousers. She’d inserted one leg when she heard the key ring jangle and the lock click. She swept her gun and duster into her arms and held the bundle before her exposed chest.

  He cracked the door open, slid inside, and shut it behind him. His nose flared at the trousers around her ankles and the crumpled duster hiding her.

  “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  “Get out.” In many social situations Anne was uncertain how to behave. This was not one of them. “Leave this room immediately, or I’ll raise such a ruckus the whole town will wonder what you’re about.”

  “A woman’s screams won’t attract any attention here.”

  Anne lifted her pistol above the folded duster. “What about a man’s?”