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

by Regina Jennings

  “I’ll leave . . . just as soon as my head stops spinning enough to make it down the staircase.”

  “Stay where you are. Mrs. Stanford won’t mind conducting her business while you recover and Harold cleans up.”

  But she obviously did. The woods of Ohio had heightened Anne’s powers of observation. A broken twig, droppings, scraped bark—little signs had meanings, and Mrs. Stanford’s reaction was based on something more than impatience and a busy schedule. Perhaps she had a daughter hoping for a marriage to Mr. Lovelace. He could be engaged already, for all she knew.

  Mrs. Stanford refused to take a seat. “I merely wanted to leave this report with you, as promised, and to discuss your recent appointment to the commissioner’s court, but Mrs. Tillerton’s needs are more pressing. I suppose I don’t need your attention until they are met.”

  But she wouldn’t leave his office until Anne did.

  Mr. Lovelace bowed. “Then if you’ll allow me to escort Mrs. Tillerton to her lodgings, we can meet again tomorrow.” He dropped his Derby hat on his head and took Sammy from Anne. “You’re coming with me, mister. We must give Mother some time to recover before she attempts to carry you again.”

  Mother? He knew better, but Mrs. Stanford didn’t.

  She got to her feet and exited the office with Mrs. Stanford and Mr. Lovelace. What did it matter? As soon as Anne found Finn Cravens, she’d leave Garber behind and never come back. Until then, Sammy was her responsibility. Unmarried mother sounded better than husband killer. What harm was another mark on her already soiled reputation?

  6

  Anne followed Nicholas down the walkway of finely chopped gravel. He stopped and turned to her once again. “I wish you’d let me carry Sammy. He must be heavy.”

  “You have our bags, and I’m getting used to him.” Anne flicked a bug off of the child’s shoulder as they brushed by rosebushes lining the walk. She wasn’t getting used to him, but dealing with the boy gave her an excuse to keep mum. After demolishing his office and accusing him of striking a woman, Anne was ready to call it quits. Once she found a place for her and the child to stay, she would do her best to avoid the unlucky Mr. Lovelace.

  The houses they had passed occupied the back half of spacious lots, giving the owners a cool distance from which to judge the pedestrians. The manicured lawns intimidated her. Too perfect. Obviously, she’d never belong in a place like this.

  “Do you ever think of living in town?” Nicholas asked.

  Anne shrugged. She’d had a house once—perfect from the outside, but what happened on the inside was nothing like she’d imagined. Maybe that was why she didn’t want one now.

  “The Pucketts are my closest friend’s parents,” he continued, “my surrogate family. Joel acts gruff but only because his mother refuses to cut the apron strings. She won’t forgive him for getting a place of his own.” Nicholas bounced his hand over the top of the pickets as they passed.

  “Are you sure these people want lodgers? This doesn’t look like a neighborhood for boarders.”

  “I’m not sure, but Mr. and Mrs. Puckett are very hospitable. It won’t hurt to ask.”

  Sammy pulled at her hair, sticking his wet fingers in her ear. She grimaced.

  “You might want to keep ahold of him.” Nicholas stared at the child. “If he repeats his earlier performance you’ll be on the street.”

  How could she know whether the situation she was bringing him into was any better than the one Tessa had provided? Would these people be any safer than the crowd at the saloon? Anne squeezed Sammy against her. If he got loose he might destroy the Pucketts’ house, along with their chance, and although she didn’t want to stay with strangers, neither could she camp with an infant. The unforgiving perfection of the lot worried her. It evidenced a meticulous, exacting personality that Anne was only too familiar with.

  Growing up, she thought nothing was worse than her father’s neglect. He didn’t notice her. He didn’t care. And then she married someone who noticed every movement, every expression that crossed her face, and nothing he noticed pleased him. Were these people the same?

  Nicholas halted at an iron gate and turned toward Anne.

  “What?” She was surprised to find herself shielding Sammy.

  “I’m holding the gate open for you. Nothing sinister.”

  The brick path from the street led to a wide verandah, complete with porch swing and potted pansies.

  “Funny these customs,” she said. “You treat the ladies by making them walk into unknown territory first?”

  He pulled the gate “closed” with a bang. “You don’t have to go first. We’ll go together.” Taking her arm he dragged her down the walk without waiting for her consent.

  Anne was more comfortable with the looks Nicholas was giving her now, as they waited before the brass door knocker. He seemed frustrated, impatient, and ready to wash his hands of her. Good. They’d part ways soon. Let him leave with no fond memories or curiosity—no reason to follow up on her progress.

  The woman who opened the door didn’t appear exacting. Her mobcap slanted over gray hair and above merry blue eyes . . . until Anne’s appearance turned her joy into confusion.

  “Hello, Mrs. Puckett,” Nicholas said. “I apologize for not sending word that I’d be calling.”

  “No apologies necessary, Nicholas. You are welcome anytime.” Her doughy face creased into pleasing lines. “And who have you brought to see me?”

  “These are some friends of mine from back home—Mrs. Anne Tillerton and Master Sammy. They are new to Garber.”

  Friends? If he was calling her a friend then how well did he really know these people?

  “Won’t you please come in? I’d offer refreshments, but supper is on the stove. You might as well stay.”

  He really should be going. The Stanfords were waiting on his report from his trip and his bid on the new project. If he stayed with the prickly lady any longer, he was bound to agitate her again, and he’d already caused her enough grief.

  Then he thought of his wrecked office and took a seat.

  Nick passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to Mr. Puckett, who still sat in shocked silence. He’d probably never thought he’d have a wild she-cat sitting at his table. Nick’s eyes flickered down her grungy getup for the last time. Her appearance begged him to slap her on the back and provide her with a spittoon, but the manners embedded into him by his exacting mother wouldn’t allow him to do so, even if Mrs. Tillerton would prefer it.

  So the best he knew to do with her was to hand her off to someone else. Mrs. Puckett and her Esther Circle at church could think of some way to help the vagabond. As much as he’d like to further their acquaintance, to do so would risk the displeasure of his largest . . . and only . . . contractor. This was for the best.

  “So tell me about yourself, Mrs. Tillerton. When did your husband pass away?” Using her fork, Mrs. Puckett smashed some carrots in a saucer and handed it to Anne.

  Anne took them but looked confused. Good grief. What was she going to do with that baby?

  “He died four years ago.” Anne bent over the carrots and missed the significant look that passed between Mr. and Mrs. Puckett. The lady placed her hand on her husband’s arm and with a slight twitch of her head dissuaded him from the words on the tip of his lips.

  “How awful—to be widowed so young. Was it an illness? Accident?”

  Anne paused with the spoonful of carrots midair. Sammy grunted, mouth opened, trying to reach it.

  “No, ma’am. Neither.” She gave the boy the bite and kept her head lowered.

  Nicholas spread a generous amount of butter on his roll. She’d drawn the short straw when it came to conversation skills. If she wasn’t careful, she’d ruin her chances of getting to stay. Intervention was needed.

  “Mrs. Tillerton and my sister Molly grew close after her husband’s passing, and then she left Prairie Lea. We lost track of her until recently, when she intervened in a train robbery.”

 
; Mr. Puckett leaned forward. His white moustache twitched. “Now, there’s a story I’d like to hear.”

  Anne looked like she’d just found half a worm in her apple, but why wouldn’t she want her heroic story told? Much better than waiting for them to ask more questions about her late husband. Well, if she wouldn’t tell it, he would.

  “I was coming home on the NTT line after scouting out the lumber sources around the Antlers area. Mrs. Tillerton and I had only just renewed our acquaintance and were having a word in the luggage—”

  Anne’s eyes widened. Nicholas raised his glass and gulped a mouthful of tea. “We were talking when the train stopped, and an armed man got on board. Next thing I knew, they were harassing some of the ladies. I couldn’t endure to see a lady in distress, but as usual I was unarmed—”

  Sammy blew raspberries unceremoniously, bringing laughter from around the table. Nick grinned. “You’re right, Sammy. I’m turning this into a fish story, aren’t I? The short of it is that I jumped in over my head, and if it wasn’t for Mrs. Tillerton and her quick draw, my last breath would’ve been filled with train soot and the dust of Indian Territory.”

  Mrs. Puckett pressed her napkin to her lips. Her blue eyes fell on Anne. “You carry a gun on you?”

  Anne wiped the carrots from Sammy’s chin. “Yes, ma’am. Usually there’s one in my knapsack when I travel.”

  The gun hadn’t been in the knapsack on the train, and he’d felt hers beneath her duster when he’d knelt at her side after the accident with the fern. A crafty reply that avoided an outright lie. He’d have to remember that in dealing with her. No, he wasn’t going to deal with her again. As soon as she found Sammy’s father—

  “Where are you lodging, Mrs. Tillerton? Do you have family in town?” asked Mrs. Puckett.

  “No, ma’am. I don’t know where I’m going to put up.” She held a little tin cup for the boy to sip from.

  “I see.”

  It was Nick’s turn to focus all his attention on his plate. Now they understood why he’d brought Anne to them. How would they respond?

  “I hate to think of that little fellow in a boardinghouse,” Mr. Puckett said.

  “And we have an empty room,” Mrs. Puckett added.

  Anne had stopped feeding Sammy, as his grunt reminded them.

  “How long do you plan to stay in town?” Mr. Puckett cleaned his fork and reached for the pumpkin pie on the sideboard behind him.

  “Just until I find his father.” The room went silent. Anne looked up. “This isn’t my baby.” Her lips went firm. “His mother left him with me.”

  Mrs. Puckett exhaled. She turned to her husband and waited for a silent verification to pass between them before speaking again. “Perhaps this is where God wants you to stay. You know the Good Book says to entertain strangers. You just might be an angel in disguise. We’d be honored for you to stay with us.”

  “I intend to pay.” Anne set down her spoon. “Once I find Finn, Sammy’s father, I’ll return to Pushmataha and will send you the money. I didn’t bring enough with me. I really thought I’d be headed back by now.”

  The pumpkin pie was passed to Nicholas. He took a thick slice. The most beneficial negotiations occurred when the other party came to your conclusions without any directing.

  “You know,” Mrs. Puckett said, leaning forward, “Joel is being downright stubborn about providing us with grandchildren. I think it’d do me some good to have Sammy to play with during the day. If I took him on my rounds, calling on my friends, why he’d be the life of the party. He’d have more grandmothers than any child—”

  He was just inhaling the warm spiciness of the pie when Anne shot to her feet.

  “I’m going.”

  Anne swooped Sammy up from his chair and plopped him on her hip. Pulling Sammy’s napkin out from his collar, she tossed it on the table.

  “Thank you for the food. It was right nice of you.” And without another word she strode out of the room toward the front door.

  With a groan Nick dropped his forkful of pie on his plate and chased after her, only catching her before she reached the gate.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m leaving. I’ll find somewhere else.”

  He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “No you don’t. You’re staying here.”

  “I can’t. Those people are crazy.”

  “Who’s calling whom crazy?”

  Anne winced as Sammy tugged on a handful of her hair. “They are too eager. The room—it’s not right. Everything seems so nice. So safe. It isn’t real. Why would they let me, a stranger of questionable reputation, stay in their home? Did you hear that talk about angels? And can anyone honestly think that watching an infant all day would be fun?”

  “They are compassionate, God-fearing folk. They know you don’t have any other choice, and they are trying to help you. And many women Mrs. Puckett’s age enjoy young ones—especially since she doesn’t know what a mess he is.”

  “Then let him stay. I’ll come back and get him when I find Finn.”

  “No, ma’am. What’s to keep you from doing the same as his mother and disappearing?”

  Her face grew fierce. “As tempting as that is, I’m made of sterner stuff. But these people . . . they have some other motivation, probably sinister, that I haven’t detected yet.”

  “You think the Pucketts are deviants?”

  “You don’t know. Your pa, your ma, they’d never hurt you. You don’t know how people are.”

  Her impenetrable mask was slipping again. Her tough act cracking. He reached to smooth Sammy’s tousled blond hair, and she shied away from him. Did Jay Tillerton still haunt her? Nick knew she had a past darker than his shoe blacking, and while he was sympathetic, he couldn’t lose this chance to leave her in competent hands. It was the best he could do for her.

  “You’re right, Mrs. Tillerton. My experience with evil is limited. I don’t know people like that, but I know these people. You and Sammy will be safe with them. You came to me for help, and this is the best help I can offer. Please give them a chance.”

  The slant in her eyes made him want to smile, even now. “I can’t go back. What will they think?”

  “They’ll understand.”

  “What if they’ve already changed their mind?”

  “We won’t know unless we ask.”

  Absently she bounced Sammy on her hip as she considered—her rough-worn duster out of place in the tidy neighborhood. And to think she was afraid of them.

  “I’ll leave if they act suspicious. And if they hurt him . . . so help me . . .”

  “For being unprepared to care for the boy, you sound like a regular Momma bear.” Nicholas smiled. “Now, let’s get you and the cub settled in your den.”

  7

  The next day Anne heaved a sigh of relief as she left to find employment. Although she questioned if leaving the baby with Mrs. Puckett was wise, she couldn’t deny the relief of being alone. The baby had snuffled and whined all night, although it was still the best night’s sleep she’d had since coming to town. He probably missed his momma. Nothing she could do to help him there.

  On the street, Anne stepped aside to defer to a stylishly dressed lady and thought of the flimsy dress the saloon owner had offered. Not again. Anne was done with dressing to please men. She had donned dresses for only a few years at the encouragement of her schoolteacher, Mr. Tillerton. He challenged her to better herself and not hide her talents. Too late she realized which talents interested him the most, and by that time her father had an opportunity to rid himself of his daughter. Jay Tillerton had been forced to marry her and leave the state, carting her to live among total strangers—where no one felt obligated to speak up for her.

  Anne scanned the various shops and businesses up and down the street. Finding work for the day would solve two of her problems—she could recompense the Pucketts for her board, and she’d escape from Sammy. But who would hire her?

  She slowed as sh
e passed the bank. While she could figure and write in a clear hand, she’d never seen a woman dressed like herself working in an office. Maybe a tanner or a farrier would need an extra hand.

  The livery stable bustled with carriages lined up and men waiting for their mounts. Anne stuck her head inside the office, not surprised to find it empty. She cut through the crowd and found the boss.

  “You look busy. I could lend a hand for a few hours.”

  “Do you know how to unhitch a horse from a carriage?” He didn’t even look her way as he buckled a bridle.

  “Sure do.”

  “Then get out there and move those carriages.”

  Anne marched toward a fine buggy. The man holding the reins didn’t act accustomed to waiting, but he lit up when he saw her. “Well, now. What do we have here? Mackie is hiring fancy women to work the stables?”

  Anne raised her eyes warily. His hat hid the silver streaks in his hair, but he was definitely the same man she’d seen in the upstairs of the saloon. She took the reins from him. “I’ve got it. You can go.”

  “It’s not your place to dismiss me, young lady. I know everything that happens in this town, so why haven’t I heard of you?”

  “Maybe because I don’t plan to be in this town much longer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “Wait.” Commands came easily for him. “I have heard of you. You rode in on the train from Pushmataha, didn’t you? The one that got held up?”

  Anne clicked her tongue. The horses followed. The man reached up and threw the brake on the carriage.

  “You are the woman from the train. Well, well. And I’m someone you’d benefit from knowing. Meet me at my . . . well, let’s meet at the hotel. I want—”

  “No.” Anne put her hands on her hips and glared. “If you don’t release the brake, I’ll move on to the other carriage.”

  “You don’t know to whom you are speaking. You should reconsider—”

  “Ian?”