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

by Regina Jennings

12

  The rose-colored draperies reflected on the gilded gas sconces and mirrors until the whole room showed pink, even tinting the white in the lapel pins scattered across Ophelia’s desk.

  “Red, pink, and blue?” Nick held up a ribbon. “Not very patriotic.”

  She slapped his hand. “Behave. Ian thinks my extravagance knows no limits, so I need you at least to be on my side.”

  In the week since Ophelia had committed to Nick’s campaign, she’d immersed herself in local politics, gaining a remarkable understanding of who the influencers were and how to win their favor. Her relentlessness embarrassed him at times, but he couldn’t complain when she was acting on his behalf.

  “Yes, ma’am. You just tell me what to do.”

  “Naturally.” Holding a pamphlet out at arm’s length, she tried not to squint. “Sterling character, transportation expert, successful entrepreneur.” She lowered the bill and smiled. “Sound like anyone you know?”

  “I hope you don’t print much of that nonsense, or my hat will get too tight.”

  “No time for modesty. Have these phrases on the tip of your tongue. You’ll hear that you’re too young, too inexperienced, too beholden to the railroads, so then you toss these answers like buckets of sand on a fire. Don’t hesitate. I’m planning a dinner for you in two weeks, a fund-raiser, where you’ll meet all the leaders of Garber enterprise.”

  “Dinner? That reminds me, are you and Mr. Stanford planning to join us for dinner when my sister arrives?”

  Ophelia smiled. “Of course. Only I’d rather not eat at a public house. You must bring your guests here and allow me to hostess. I’d be honored. Now, about this political event, not all of these men are supporters of yours, but this will be your chance to win them over.”

  “Do I have any supporters?”

  “Certainly. Some dislike your opponent, Philip Walton, but many of your friends and contacts have already begun to spread the word.”

  Nick pinned the ribbon onto his lapel. “Then we mustn’t let them down.”

  She beamed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Campaigning should come naturally to you, Nicholas. You possess charisma that can’t be taught. Make use of that and give no cause for offense. Don’t frequent any establishments that might tarnish your reputation. Plan accidental encounters with influential people. Consider whose company you’re keeping . . .” One carefully painted eyebrow rose. “Need I go any further?”

  He owed Anne his life—a debt that felt like less of a burden and more of an honor the longer he knew her, but the best he could do with his benefactress was to ignore the slight. “I understand. Be me but even more so.”

  She tilted her head in modest agreement. “And in the meantime, don’t forget to keep up your work at the courthouse. If you fail to perform your duties, all the ribbons in the world won’t secure you a position.”

  He had to look away before she caught him smirking at the ribbons that bedecked her ensemble. “Now that you mention it, I have some correspondence about the bridge that needs a reply. I’d better be going.” But before he even reached his hat, he heard Mr. Stanford’s pounding footsteps approaching.

  “Nick! Good to see you, my boy. How are you? Have Ophelia’s efforts scared you off yet?”

  Ophelia touched her pearl necklace. “I’m a great help, Ian. You, of all people, should know that.”

  He ambled to her desk with a grim chuckle. “Without you I would miss out on scads of opportunities, live in a hovel, and have no social connections whatsoever. Listen to her, Nicholas. She can get you places.” He lifted the lid on a jar of sweets and took a handful of chocolate-covered peanuts.

  “One place I’ve yet to go is to the emporium to get my crimson reticule. With all my campaigning it’s a particularly appropriate accessory for my navy gown.”

  Ian rolled his eyes before addressing Nick. “How’s business at the courthouse?”

  “Not much with everyone preparing for the election—only the bridge vote at the end of this month.”

  “Ah, yes. The bridge. Awfully ambitious for little Blackstone County.”

  “But possible,” Nick said. “You can’t imagine how desperately Allyton needs reliable transportation across to Garber.”

  “We can’t ask the population to pay for something that benefits only a few.” Ian shook his head. “It’d be unjust. Those people chose to live there despite the lack of transportation.”

  True. Nick agreed with Mr. Stanford in theory, but the memory of seeing the panicked man brave the river was hard to ignore. Yet, what if that family were the only family living in Allyton? Could they spend tens of thousands of dollars to build a bridge for one family? They had to draw a line somewhere, but Nick wasn’t sure where that was. He’d learned how to handle his own money. Distributing the money of others should be considered even more carefully.

  After Ophelia’s dire predictions about hurting Nick’s campaign, Anne almost felt guilty showing up at the office in her dingy hunting wear. She’d expected an argument or maybe even for him to send her home. Why did he have to come out with that giddy grin and ask if she’d had an enjoyable evening? Why did he have to spread on the charm like marmalade at a fancy tea? Didn’t he know she wasn’t Sunday company?

  She stomped to her desk, trying to squelch the speculative glances he was giving her.

  “This afternoon is my introduction to the chamber,” he said. “I’ve practiced my lines a hundred times. Would you like to hear them?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t vote. You’d be wasting your time.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s just as well. I need to show you the payroll. My foreman will be in this afternoon to pick up pay for the crew.”

  He allowed her to pass and get behind her desk— Harold’s desk—before flipping open a portfolio.

  “The figure in this column shows the workers’ hours. Multiply it by this here, and deduct the amount in this column from their total pay to cover their purchases at the company store, broken tools . . . and fees for refusing to listen to my speeches.”

  Anne raised an eyebrow. She wouldn’t laugh, especially when he was trying so hard to elicit that response.

  “I got a telegraph from Anoli,” she said.

  Nick sobered. “About Sammy’s father?”

  Anne nodded. “He’s on his way.”

  Nick ran his finger beneath his starched collar. “Maybe he’ll make an appearance this time. I don’t want you disappointed again.”

  Anne blurted, “I’m going to miss Sammy. I couldn’t wait to be free of him at first, and now I’m going to miss him.”

  “Funny how that happens.” But Nick didn’t sound like it was funny at all. “So now you wait. No hopping on a train unless you’ve said good-bye.”

  “No.” Anne traced the edge of the desk. “I won’t run off.”

  “And I hope you can stay to see Molly. She’ll want to visit before going to the Stanfords’.”

  Anne’s mouth dropped open. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I was going to reserve the dining room at the hotel, but Mrs. Stanford insisted on hosting a dinner. It’ll be grand. I thought we might as well make an occasion of it, especially if you’re leaving Garber.”

  Dinner at the Stanfords’? Anne felt ill. She could stare Mrs. Stanford down on the street, but she’d be turned away at the door if she showed up dressed as she was.

  Nick stopped. “Please come. I’d love to present you to Molly. Ophelia will behave herself. She’s a wonderful hostess.”

  “Mrs. Stanford doesn’t serve me as large of a piece of approval pie as she does you. I can’t go to her house.”

  “She’s got no reason to dislike you. Dress up a mite and there’ll be no rift. Here, take this.” He pulled a clip of money out of his pocket, slid the top bill off, and dropped it on her desk. “Once you’re finished with payroll take the rest of the day to get yourself an outfit together. We’ll quit Wedne
sday when their train gets in.” He started for his office. “Oh, and don’t forget to write that in the ledger.”

  “Write what?”

  He pointed to the bill that lay untouched on her desk. “Business gift. Note it in the third column.”

  “I don’t need your gifts, business or otherwise.”

  Nick’s mouth opened to retort when steps sounded on the stairs outside. Anne almost laughed at how quietly they listened, both certain it was Ophelia, but the door swung open to reveal a grim deputy.

  “Y’all got a minute? I could use your help.”

  Nick wasn’t afraid of meeting the outlaws again. True, he’d almost died at the hands of one of these blackguards, but he would enjoy the satisfaction of facing them on more even footing. He and Anne trailed behind Joel, letting him part the crowds like Moses and the Red Sea. They’d only caught three of the train robbers on this holdup, but if there was any justice under the sun, they’d be the same ones that had accosted his train.

  A murmur swelled through the crowd as ominous as the thunder of a stampede. Judgment day for someone.

  “Step back,” Joel ordered as they reached the jailhouse door, then he looked surprised when they obeyed.

  The onlookers craned their necks over Nick’s shoulder as he guided Anne in with a hand at her back and pulled the door closed behind them.

  “You almost got a lynch mob.” Nick’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkened stone interior.

  “Don’t need one.” Joel gestured to three bodies lying in an unlocked cell. “They’re already dead. Do you recognize these men?”

  Nick’s stomach lurched. He reached to lay a comforting hand on Anne’s shoulder, but she walked directly into the cell and looked down on the slack faces.

  Nick forced himself closer and averted his eyes from the ragged hole torn in the vest of the man at his feet, but the vest he’d recognize anywhere. “That’s the leader. He’s the one who told the man to shoot me.”

  Joel looked to Anne. Her jaw lifted in dark affirmation.

  Nick walked around his feet to get a better look at the one against the wall. “I think that’s the kid I scuffled with. If he has dark eyes—”

  “Let me open them for you,” Joel said.

  “I’d rather you not.”

  “That’s him.” Anne’s shoulders looked like they could withstand a hurricane. “He has a piece of his ear missing. I remember now.”

  Joel bent to inspect and was satisfied. “How about the third one? Does he look familiar?”

  Nick shrugged. “He could’ve been the one who held the pistol on me. If so, he got new boots, because Anne shot the old ones.”

  “How about you, Mrs. Tillerton? Does he look familiar?”

  She nodded. Weary lines appeared around her mouth. “He had a bandanna and a hat at the holdup so I didn’t recognize him then, but now I do. That’s Finn Cravens.”

  If Nick and Deputy Puckett hadn’t been watching, Anne would’ve marched over and kicked the dead man hard enough to make him cry, even now.

  Moron.

  So he was on his way to town to claim his son, but he thought he’d pull one last heist before he retired?

  Fool.

  He quit buffalo hunting because of a better opportunity?

  Imbecile.

  Not until she heard Nick clear his throat did Anne realize that the last word had been pronounced aloud. She closed her eyes, unwilling to consider the implications and decisions before her.

  Nick’s shoes scuffed the floor. “The boy’s father?”

  Anne nodded. She’d counted the days, haunted the telegraph office, and pestered the postmaster, waiting for her opportunity to flee the confines of Garber. Looking again, she prayed that she’d made a mistake, but it was Finn’s nearly white hair filled with dirt and grass splayed on the brick floor.

  “We’ll find his family,” Nick said.

  “He’s an orphan.” She tilted her head up to find the lone square of sky through the high prison window. “He doesn’t have any family. He told us stories of growing up on the streets of New Orleans and heading west as soon as he was big enough to work.” Anne covered her eyes. “What am I going to do?”

  Neither man offered an answer. Not surprising.

  “I want to go to the house,” she said. “Sammy may not have known his father, but I want to be with him, just the same.”

  With bowed heads they stepped out of her way. Their low voices still rumbled as she busted through the prison door and pushed through the crowd.

  Poor, poor Sammy. Abandoned by his mother, orphaned by his criminal father. She hoped he’d never know what happened to his parents. Maybe by the time he was grown he’d have a family and would never feel the lack. Anne shoved her fists into her duster. Her mother died giving birth to her, and she’d never gotten over the lack. Her father hadn’t paid her a lick of attention through her childhood, and she was his natural-born daughter. What chance did Sammy have for a loving family?

  She’d reached the Pucketts’ neighborhood with its fenced yards when she heard Nick behind her. He fell in step, hands in his pockets, for once having nothing to say.

  Anne opened her mouth but then, with a shake of her head, closed it again. She had no plan. She could make no promises, but a quiet determination was forming. Sammy would not be placed in an orphanage. He would not piddle his years away in an institution, only to be released on the streets when half-grown without any skills, connections, or way to support himself. In Indian Territory they’d met a handful of men who’d grown up in orphanages, were looking for work, and didn’t know the first thing about riding, shooting, or getting along in camp—Finn, for example. She could do better for the boy.

  But how?

  Could she find a family for him? The Pucketts might take him in. Joel would raise Cain about it and accuse her of further taking advantage of his parents, but it’d be good for the boy. Then she could come back and visit between hunts.

  But her heart pounded as she thought about leaving him. He would cry. His chubby fingers would twine around her hair and lock on to her sleeve. Every morning Mrs. Puckett distracted him with toast and jelly so Anne could leave for work, but she couldn’t justify sneaking away permanently. Not like Tessa. Prying Sammy off of her would be the lowest point of her fairly miserable life.

  White wispy clouds raced high above a bright sky. Every day she’d waited for Finn, hoping to get back to hunting while winter delayed. Now she wondered if she would ever be free to ride Indian Territory again. They reached the Pucketts’ house, but she couldn’t go inside. Not yet. Anne darted into the gazebo with Nick right behind her. First, she must choose.

  The leaves of the peony bushes shuddered as she brushed against them.

  “I can’t do it,” she said.

  Nicholas stood at her side. “No one expects you to. You aren’t prepared to raise a child.”

  She spun around. “Aren’t you supposed to encourage me? Aren’t you supposed to challenge me to sacrifice? What about doing my Christian duty?”

  “I’m thinking of you, Anne. All I’ve heard since you arrived was how you couldn’t stand being here, how you detested Garber and couldn’t wait until you got back to Pushmataha. Isn’t that your first priority?”

  Anne dropped to the iron bench and clasped her hands between her knees. Finding Finn had been her focus for the last month, but it had become a reluctant goal. Every day she spent with the Pucketts she felt her love for the family growing. Every day with Nicholas weakened her distrust of men. Instinctively Anne knew that staying with these people would destroy her carefully built defenses. She had to leave before she was tempted to give up her independence, but could she now?

  “I’m surprised at you. You’re so quick to free me from guilt.” Anne wasn’t being fair, but she had to say it anyway. “Your desire to be rid of me overpowers any compassion for Sammy.”

  Her aim was true. Nick flinched, but he didn’t flee. “You are my first priority. I want what�
�s best for you. As much as I care about Sammy, no one could fault you for placing him in an institution. That’s what those places are for. This child isn’t your problem.”

  “Whose problem is he, then? You may turn away, but I can’t. I’ve been there, Nick. I’ve had my face bruised and swollen with no advocate. People saw, but I wasn’t their problem. I’ve been hungry and unkempt, but the only one responsible for me didn’t care. I can’t pretend like I don’t see.”

  Nick knelt before her. He steadied himself with a hand on her knee. “I know you. I know you want to help, but please give yourself time to think it through. This would be a permanent decision, and it needs to be the right decision for both of you.”

  Anne stared at his hand resting on her britches’ leg. Sammy already felt like part of her. She carried his smile close, using it as a reward for a hard day’s work. Sitting in the cramped office, hunched over tiny figures in a ledger, and all she had to look forward to in the evenings was his delighted squeal when he saw her. She didn’t know how she’d do it, but her decision was made.

  “Thank you for walking me home.” She gave her leg a shake, and he dutifully removed his hand.

  “It’s a shock. Not that this Finn Cravens would’ve been a good father—”

  “Still, he was Sammy’s father, and I wasn’t willing to interfere. Now . . . well, now everything has changed.” A clearing breeze danced through their sanctuary. Anne stood and turned her face into it.

  Nick rose. “Would you like me to stay while you tell Mrs. Puckett?”

  “I think it’d be better if I talked to her alone.” Would Mrs. Puckett recommend the same course Nick had, or would her mother’s heart yearn to help the boy?

  Anne watched the quiet house as she silently buried her dreams of independence. She’d have to make new dreams. No longer could she withhold her heart. Her boy deserved her love no matter what it cost her.

  “It’s not the right time to bring it up, but I’ll be with Molly and Bailey on Wednesday. Under the circumstances, I don’t expect you to go.” Nick looked hopeful, desperate for reciprocation, but she had nothing to give. He lowered his eyes. “I’d be proud to escort you if you’re up to it.”