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

by Regina Jennings

  But Anne planned to keep the boy and provide everything he needed—without a husband’s assistance. She was capable, but at what cost? How many daily sacrifices would she have to make to meet his needs?

  “We have to walk to the Stanfords’?” Molly asked. “Where do you keep your buggy?”

  Anne perked up. “Nick’s buggy? He doesn’t have one.”

  Bailey snorted. “Crazy railroad man. Not having a horse is like walking around without kneecaps. I suppose it’s possible, but what an inconvenience.”

  “You were afoot after you stopped cowboying,” Molly said. “Had to borrow Father’s surrey quite often.”

  Bailey’s neck turned red, but he grinned just the same.

  Anne’s heart lightened. Molly and Bailey’s presence worked like a tonic. Now certain that Sammy would be in her future, Anne could look ahead and wonder—would her life ever assume this easy normalcy? Would she ever be as comfortable around a man as Molly was with her husband?

  “At least we are able to walk through a fashionable district,” Molly said. “I’m noting the new paneled friezes on the architecture.”

  “Paneled friezes, yes. Very nice.” Bailey patted her hand. “I’ll be sure to have Mr. Mohle add some as soon as we get home.”

  “Listen to you, Bailey,” Nick said. “Are you really going to make more changes to your house? You just built it.”

  “Naw. Once she sees what they cost, she’ll decide against it. I’m just playing along.” He winked at Anne.

  Her eyes widened. He was Molly’s husband—a church-going, God-fearing man. Then she caught herself. He hadn’t meant any harm. Just a friend being friendly.

  As Molly and Nicholas discussed the rising price of raw timber, Bailey nudged her. “So how do you like working for Nick?”

  “He can act pretty full of himself, but he treats me fair.”

  Bailey grinned. “Sounds like an accurate assessment.”

  She studied the manicured path as they walked toward the house on the corner lot. Bailey was teasing her. She hadn’t said anything wrong, had she? Well, if Nicholas hadn’t sent her packing after one of their many arguments, he surely wouldn’t over that statement.

  The nearer they came to their destination, the more Anne’s confidence vanished. She propelled herself up the brick footpath like a sailor walking the plank, then hid in their small ensemble and waited for their ringing entreaty to be answered—hoping vainly that Ophelia Stanford would let her be.

  Might as well hope that Sunday would come three times a week.

  From the moment they were escorted into the parlor, Mrs. Stanford focused the bulk of her attention on Anne. The woman studied her like a tracker studied scat. Ophelia must have already made up her mind to be offended by Anne’s appearance, but it seemed she couldn’t decide why. Anne took her seat, her palms sweating. She sat with back straight and both feet on the floor, knees together. She wouldn’t make any mistakes if she didn’t open her mouth. Besides, between her three companions, there was no silence that needed to be filled.

  Molly and Nicholas were both talkers and obviously missed each other’s company. Molly did her best to draw Mrs. Stanford into the conversation, which was no easy task when she was dead set on picking Anne apart from across the room. When Mr. Stanford made his appearance, Anne nearly fled. His eyes lingered like a fly on raw meat.

  “Mrs. Tillerton, is it? You look familiar. You weren’t working at the livery stable a few weeks ago, were you?”

  Anne shot a frightened glance toward Nick. Nick nodded calmly, assuring her she had nothing to fear.

  “Yes, sir, but I was at the Velvet Palace before that.”

  “You worked at the Velvet Palace?” Ophelia stood. Her skirt twitched like the tail of a mountain lion. “Honestly, Ian, this has gone on long enough. I will not sit across the table from a fancy lady.”

  “I did not work there,” Anne protested. “I only ate there while trying to find lodging, but I thought Mr. Stanford’s recollection might be of seeing me there as he was going up the stairs.”

  Ophelia closed her mouth and dropped to her chair. “I’m . . . I’m speechless.”

  “Oh, stop with your righteous outrage.” Ian pulled a cigar from his pocket and jammed it between his teeth. “Now you have one more misdeed to harangue me over. Add another expensive bauble to your demands.”

  The dinner bell chimed and Anne sprang to her feet. Mrs. Stanford deliberately refused to budge until everyone had an opportunity to notice who alone had jumped the gun.

  “Mrs. Garner, I believe it’s my privilege to escort you to supper.” Mr. Stanford rose to offer his arm to Molly.

  Molly’s cheerfulness rang false. “My, we are dining in high style tonight, aren’t we?”

  Without waiting for direction, Bailey took Mrs. Stanford’s arm and nearly pulled it off in his eagerness to see what fine food would be served.

  Nicholas offered his arm to Anne and paused long enough for the room to empty.

  “I’ve ruined everything,” she said.

  “You didn’t create the problems that exist between the two of them. Forget about it and try to enjoy yourself. I’m looking forward to dining with a beautiful woman at my side.”

  She must have tensed, for he laid his hand over hers. “Don’t be afraid. Just because you put on a skirt doesn’t turn me into a crazed, violent maniac.”

  His eyes were kind, reassuring, and even though she could acknowledge the truth of his words, they still made her skin crawl in remembrance of the way Ian had looked at her. She squeezed Nick’s arm. At least he hadn’t believed Ophelia’s accusation about her employment.

  They entered the dining room last, and Nicholas dragged her to her seat. Entering a room before you had a chance to note every portal and window was foolhardy, but they weren’t waiting for her to take a full account of the elongated chamber. Nicholas intervened awkwardly with the chair before Anne could pull it out for herself, but how was she supposed to know? She plopped into her chair. Why couldn’t she get along as well as Molly?

  So for the next half hour she mimicked Molly religiously. Napkin on her lap. Her own utensils didn’t touch the food until it was on her plate. Her fork didn’t spear the mutton. Her knife didn’t cut the butter. When she wasn’t using the knife, it rested on her plate. She wished Molly would eat more green beans. They smelled good, but Anne was afraid to venture out on her own.

  Molly pinned her meat with her fork rotated toward herself. Then with her knife in her right hand . . .

  From the corner of her eye, Anne saw movement. A man’s arm reached around her face, close enough he could break her neck with one quick jerk. Anne dropped her fork and grasped him by the wrist. Throwing her body forward she was able to catch him off balance. He fell against her back, and before he could move she had her dinner knife against his exposed neck.

  Horrified gasps erupted at the attack. So were his actions planned all along, or had Ophelia given the signal after Anne’s embarrassing exposure of Mr. Stanford’s activities?

  “Please, ma’am. I was just reaching for your glass. Please . . . the knife.” The man’s eyes bulged. A vein in his temple throbbed.

  “Release him at once!” Mrs. Stanford stood, her outraged face causing Anne to wonder if she wasn’t the biggest threat at the table.

  Nick’s voice floated smoothly beneath the commotion. “He’s the butler, Anne. You can let him go.”

  With effort, Anne released her hold. She watched as he took her glass with shaking hands and refilled it with tea. From the hacking noise across the table, she summarized that Bailey had choked. His wheezing and coughing were laced with laughter while Molly pounded on his back. Only Nicholas remained unfazed, calmly cutting another bite of mutton.

  “Sit down, Ophelia.” Mr. Stanford chewed on his mutton. “Theo isn’t hurt. This’ll teach him not to go sneaking around without announcing himself.”

  Anne’s glass was returned, although Theo took pains not to lean over her a
gain.

  “I’m surprised at you, Nicholas,” Mrs. Stanford said. “You didn’t make a move to protect an innocent man from this Amazon.”

  Anne placed her hands in her lap. She wouldn’t eat another bite of food provided by this woman.

  “I know it’s no use. If Mrs. Tillerton wanted to do harm to Theo, I couldn’t stop her. You’ll remember she saved my life on that train—and those weren’t unarmed serving staff she went up against, either.” He chewed and washed his food down with a drink. “She’s a remarkable woman.”

  She’d come here to bolster Nick’s relationship with his biggest client. Instead, she’d certainly destroyed it. And now he was defending her. Anne sank even further into her chair.

  Bailey wiped his mouth with his napkin. His dark eyes grew thoughtful. Was he thinking of what had happened along the banks of Plum Creek as she was? Bailey and his cousin Weston had heard her gunshot. Yes, he’d seen her work before. She didn’t regret saving Rosa’s life. How could she? But her heroism had cost him dearly. Wasn’t that the whole idea behind being a hero—sacrifice? But no one realized that her sacrifice was a daily burden. Her pain hadn’t ended with his life. As long as she felt her life was in danger at a dinner party, she was still paying.

  14

  The breeze had picked up during dinner. Nick considered offering Anne his jacket, but with her wool dress and the challenging pace at which she barreled down the road, he assumed she was warm enough and kept his excess clothing to himself. He tried to stroll, hands in his pockets, but had to give up the pretense of effortlessness in order to stay at her side.

  “Thank you for going.”

  She nodded once.

  “The dress was a nice touch. Do you think you could wear it tomorrow?”

  “You’re pushing your luck.”

  Of course he was. Would he be having any fun if he weren’t? “I’m sorry you got caught up in the Stanfords’ feud, but I don’t think you did any harm. It’s an ongoing dispute. And nice work on the butler, by the way. Servants are notoriously untrustworthy. Always be on guard—”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, but it wasn’t funny to me.” She fumbled with the latch on the garden gate.

  “Come now. Don’t you see the humor?”

  She turned. “I don’t. He scared me. Why would you laugh when someone thinks their life is in danger?”

  “But all he did was reach . . .” He passed his hand through the air to the right of her. Anne ducked, flinging her arm over her head.

  Nicholas’s stomach dropped. “Oh, sweetheart . . .” When would he learn? He stepped backwards, giving her room, what she most desired. He’d tried to tease her out of her worry. He’d poked fun at the defenses she wore, but many times he lost sight of the fact that those defenses were in place for a reason. They’d been stormed and breached before, and he needed to be clear on his intentions. Would he let her remain protected, or would he stay to defend her if she came out of her fortress?

  Her hand shone white against the dark fabric of her bodice. She pressed it against her waist and closed the gate, allowing it to separate them.

  “I wish there was something I could do for you.” And in that moment, he reached his decision. He loved her. How that love would express itself, how she would allow him to proceed, he couldn’t predict, but he would proceed. “I wish you didn’t live in fear of the next blow.”

  “It’s all right.” She straightened and brushed a stray curl out of her face. “I’m used to it.”

  “But you don’t need to live like this. Jay Tillerton was an evil man. No one else wants to hurt you.”

  Anne studied the gate. “But I can’t be sure, can I? And now I’m not just protecting myself, but Sammy also. My task is to raise him so that he knows nothing but love. Sammy should be able to stand tall and not expect pain and betrayal at every turn.”

  “That sounds like a fine goal.” Nick leaned over the fence that separated them, energized by his newly discovered resolve. He knew he’d spook her if he gazed too long, but when his eyes met hers, he was lost. Who would’ve thought that scary Anne Tillerton was really scared Anne? Who would’ve thought that the little banty rooster was as tender as a spring chick, and as quiet as a dove when she peeked out of her armor? “I have a goal, too,” he said before he could think better of it. “Someday you will know what it is to be secure in a relationship and loved by a touch.”

  Her gray eyes met his and searched their depths—looking for what, he knew not. Her lips parted. She was so close, but he feared if he came any closer, daybreak would find her and Sammy with their backs to Garber, headed to goodness knows where.

  Her fingertips brushed the back of his hand. “Carter is probably asleep.”

  “Who?” He blinked. Oh yeah. His nephew. “I’m glad you reminded me. Molly would kill me if I returned to the hotel without him.”

  “I’d forgotten, too.” Anne held the gate open for him and stayed by his side as he walked forward, unsure of where this path would lead.

  After seeing Molly and Bailey off at the train station the next morning, Nick didn’t expect to find Harold when he walked into the office. True, Harold’s splinted arm meant that he wouldn’t be able to write, but with Anne to help him, they would make up lost ground quickly. Besides, Harold’s presence might prevent Nick from acting impulsively and frightening Anne away.

  Where was their relationship headed? Nick was ready to find out, but above all he wouldn’t rush her.

  After getting settled Nick and Harold caught up on the work that had been put together during his absence. Nick went over the new hires on the line and the new equipment ordered from the money borrowed at the bank.

  “Looks like you have it lined out.” Harold dug into his sling to scratch beneath his bandage.

  “We should be ready by the time Mr. Stanford breaks ground on the new track. The loan payments will squeeze our budget until we meet our first objective on the contract, but it will be worth it when we get both teams rolling.”

  The outer door opened and Anne stepped inside. “Harold’s back?”

  Nick hadn’t meant to sigh, but when Harold’s questioning face turned his way, he knew it’d been audible. And yet how else could he have responded to the beautiful, demure woman standing in the doorway?

  She wore the same dark dress she’d donned the night before. Once again her curly hair was gathered and twisted up, and while nothing about her ensemble would’ve been considered fashionable, it affected Nick like a kick in the chest.

  “He’s going to be in my office for most of the day,” Nick said, “but he still can’t write.”

  She fidgeted. Nick forced his shoulders to relax. He knew to draw his gaze away before he embarrassed her. Lifting a paper before him, he continued, “We have paper work to talk over, so we’ll stay out of your way.”

  “If there’s any way I can help—”

  But before she could complete her thought the outside door opened. Anne looked over her shoulder and then grew sullen.

  “It must be Ophelia.” Nick spoke, barely moving his mouth.

  “You haven’t taught her to lock the door behind her?” Harold moved his chair closer to Nick’s.

  Anne returned to her desk, clearing the way for Mrs. Stanford to enter.

  “I’m surprised to see you with two employees, Nicholas. Surely we’re not paying you that well.” The rich rust of her gown shone like a copper penny. Using her parasol as a walking stick, she made her way to her customary chair and sank into it like a queen on her rival’s throne.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Stanford, and while I appreciate your concern over my staffing, I promise nothing that happens in this office will adversely affect your business.”

  “She affected my staff last night.”

  “Regretfully so, but she can hardly pull a knife on Theo from here.”

  Harold’s eyebrows lifted until they met his hairline, which was a distance, to be sure.

  “You should worry about your
own well-being. As you pointed out, you couldn’t stop her should she try something against your person.”

  Nicholas allowed his face to harden. He leaned forward against his desk, enjoying the feel of his coat straining against his arms and spoke loudly enough for Anne to hear him in the next room. “I was merely jesting. Please don’t presume that I’m threatened—or burdened—by her. A woman with your resources and interests surely has more important concerns.”

  Ophelia stood. Ever in control, she sauntered to the new fern, obviously aware that both men followed her every move. She traced the curve of the pedestal with a manicured finger. “No reason for you to get upset, Nicholas. The purpose of this visit was to offer you a new opportunity—one that I think might interest you.”

  She turned, spinning her parasol slowly. “We have two options for a track to Muskogee. One proposed route would go through Bakersville, the other through Vannatta. I recommended to Ian that you go with him tomorrow to scout the two locations and help make the decision about which route would be more profitable.”

  “What did Mr. Stanford say? Can I leave so close to the election?” Nicholas hated that the prospect excited him so. And he hated that his eagerness pleased Ophelia.

  “I insist. It’s not good for Ian to go on these trips alone. He’s susceptible to diverse temptations, and I’d feel better if you went along.” She trailed her fingers along the back of the chair. “There are times when business decisions are made that have nothing to do with contracts, but everything to do with appreciation. Favors, compromises, courtesies—they all play a part in the advancement of a career.”

  A doubt gnawed at Nick’s gut—a fleeting regret that he hadn’t gone after another client and diversified his business after all. But why should he worry when such a shining opportunity was laid before him?