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

by Regina Jennings

  Nick’s grasp on the loop tightened. Was Mr. Stanford actually threatening him? His stomach squeezed into a painful ball of iron. The Stanfords had supported him, given him a lucrative contract before he’d proven himself. They’d introduced him into Garber society and now were spearheading his campaign. He couldn’t believe Mr. Stanford would sever their relationship because of one county vote, but was there any other way to interpret his message?

  Ian leaned forward. “Now, last I heard you have the new equipment already ordered, don’t you? You’re all set up for that second line. Probably have that money from the loan already paid out, too.”

  “Yes, sir. We couldn’t have bought the saw without the bank’s help.”

  He smiled. “I admire someone who takes a risk . . . like investing before a contract is signed. I’d like to see your optimism rewarded, but there are no guarantees, especially in this shaky economy. I never know when we might need to cut our losses and find another opportunity.”

  Nick’s throat closed. He turned his face to the window. Perhaps he hadn’t understood the situation before, but his eyes were fully opened now. What had started as a thrilling opportunity had turned into a dangerous responsibility. He’d promised the citizens of Blackstone County that he would act with their best interests in mind, but he hadn’t expected their desires to so conflict with his.

  Anne pulled the solicitor’s door closed behind her and journeyed down the long corridor, her footsteps echoing through the courthouse. While she should rejoice that the man saw no obstacles to her taking custody of Sammy, the thought that no one else wanted the child sorrowed her. Not for her sake, of course. Sammy belonged to her and she had no desire to share him, but she longed for the day when he had friends who loved and appreciated him.

  Now that her courthouse task was complete, Anne would search again for employment. She hoped her more traditional appearance would help the search. Truthfully, Anne didn’t mind the dress too much. She enjoyed looking feminine when no one was around. Even though the desire to look pretty and be treated special had endangered her, it hadn’t entirely disappeared. Anne ran her hand down the row of pearly buttons on the bodice. Being leered at and manhandled she objected to. The dress she could keep.

  Anne had nearly reached the lone exit at the end of the corridor when the narrow door opened.

  Ophelia Stanford.

  How did she open the door without ever looking like she’d touched it? Must be some sort of deviltry she possessed that caused it to fly at her approach. She glowered at Anne as though she’d found her smeared on the bottom of her boot. “Your dress looks nice . . . at least that’s what I thought when you wore the same one last week.”

  As if the remark could hurt her feelings. What was Ophelia doing at the courthouse, anyway? Slipping in a back door didn’t fit her character. Anne squared her shoulders. Was Nick back in town? Was she coming to see him?

  Anne stared at Ophelia’s handbag. “I see your husband still hasn’t given you that red bag you’ve been after. You must not have expressed yourself clearly enough.”

  Ophelia’s nostrils flared. She marched resolutely forward, barging ahead as if to trample Anne. Was there room for her to pass? It didn’t matter. Anne wouldn’t step out of her way.

  Ophelia sped up as she neared. Anne squared her shoulders. She’d seen similar showdowns every time her brothers fought. Would this confrontation end with Ophelia and her rolling on the ground plummeling each other?

  She sincerely hoped so.

  Ophelia continued forward but at the last moment angled her shoulders and pulled her skirts hard against the wall. Despite her effort there was a moment they were locked together with skirts tangled, but Anne refused to budge.

  “For crying aloud!” Ophelia huffed as she stumbled past.

  Gratifying. Nick might let Ophelia push him around, but Anne’s boots were nailed to the floor. She watched Ophelia stomp away and wondered exactly which of those offices was Nick’s and how he was feeling about his decision to keep Ophelia close and push her away.

  His calf-leather shoes had never felt heavier. Nicholas trod the bare dirt path that cut through the empty lot on his way to the courthouse. He’d arrived in town late the night before, but instead of checking in at his own office this morning, he’d make good on his promise to Mr. Stanford that he’d look once again at the bridge proposal and see if there was reason to reconsider his vote. Nick would go over every detail again, praying that there’d be some missed consideration and he could agree with his patron and preserve his clear conscience.

  He swept down the lonely hall toward the commissioners’ offices with the full intent of ducking past the judge’s chambers, fearing that old Judge Calloway, with his twenty-two years of experience, would recognize his troubled soul immediately for what it was—guilt.

  His soft-soled shoes made no noise as he approached the door, left open a crack, but the woman’s voice from within was too familiar for him to ignore. Definitely not Judge Calloway’s crotchety assistant.

  “Imagine, after all the trouble we’ve gone through to secure his position, he tells Ian that he’s in favor of the bridge,” Ophelia said.

  Nicholas halted so quickly he had to place a hand on the wall to steady himself.

  “That’s not my concern,” the judge said. “I appointed him as promised. I’ve kept my end of the bargain. No refunds coming from me.”

  Nick’s pulse leapt. The odor of the waxed floors grew suffocating, the hall too narrow. He raised his hand, intending to swing open the door and clear up what must be a horrible misunderstanding, but instinct halted him.

  “You aren’t to blame,” Ophelia purred, “but you should be advised. If he’s foolish enough to cross us, then our election strategy will have to be reevaluated. What’s the point of electing him if he’s uncooperative?”

  “Do what you must. I’m washing my hands of the affair.” Calloway’s voice receded as if he were turning toward his private office. “As far as I’m concerned . . .”

  Recognizing that the conversation was nearing its end, Nicholas spun to go, but where? Ophelia would emerge before he had time to exit the long corridor. He couldn’t confront her. Not until he had time to examine the implications of what he’d heard. He jogged past two closed doors, trying each handle as the seconds ticked away. Footsteps sounded behind him just as a knob turned in his palm and he let himself inside without a second to spare.

  “Mr. Lovelace? Nice of you to visit.” David Anderson dropped his pen into the inkwell. “May I help you?”

  Nicholas pushed the door closed behind him too quickly to escape the other man’s notice.

  “Are you hiding?” David’s moustache lifted as he smiled.

  Nicholas leaned against the door to catch his breath. David was the one person who might know what to do with the information he’d uncovered, but was Nicholas prepared for the consequences? Could he proceed with his suspicions? He edged his way forward and slid into a chair. “The other day you hinted at something . . . something corrupt, but you didn’t tell me everything. What do you know? What are you keeping from me?”

  Anderson’s smile fled. His eyes darted to the door. “Maybe I don’t know anything for certain. My observations wouldn’t hold up in court, not without collaboration. Not unless you have something to add.”

  Nick’s breath ripped out of his lungs. So Anderson had no proof. Did that relieve him or make his decision even more troublesome? His mind reeling, he knew he had to count the cost. No reason to destroy his future when he could be mistaken. Perhaps his conclusion was premature.

  He inhaled long and evenly, willing his heart to slow, but Anderson’s gaze probed clear through him.

  “Let me guess. You don’t know anything, either,” the man said.

  “Nothing for certain.” Nicholas twisted his mouth.

  “Then why do you ask? Do you really want to know the truth?”

  Nick closed his eyes. “If the truth costs me my business, my frien
dships, and my political career, should I welcome it?”

  When there was no answer he opened his eyes to see David leaning forward, elbows on his desk, hands clasped under his chin. “You’re a God-fearing young man, Nicholas. You can quote the verse as well as I can—‘The truth shall make you free.’”

  “Free to do what? Be unemployed and hated?” Nick’s voice dropped. “Don’t get all preachy on me. What have you done besides drop hints?”

  David’s chair bumped across the wood floor as he scooted away from the desk. “There’s very little I can do besides point out that before Richard Garrard died, he allotted county land for the very railroad you provide lumber to and shortly thereafter was able to pay off his farm loan that had been overdue.”

  “How’d you learn that?”

  “He told me. For weeks he’d been concerned that it’d be foreclosed on, but then he came up with the funds, not only to pay off the overdue portion but the entire sum. I doubt it was a coincidence that he and Mr. Stanford began sharing company at precisely the same time.”

  “According to Garrard’s ledger, he had ample reelection funds—just as I do, thanks to Ian Stanford.” Nicholas strode to the east wall and stood face-to-face with the tintype of Governor Roberts. “I wondered why I was honored with this appointment. I thought perhaps it was through some capability of mine.”

  “I’m relieved to know you aren’t involved. I just assumed you’d taken the job with the purpose of doing their bidding.”

  Everything in Nick wanted to protest his assessment, but how could he when he couldn’t promise that he’d do the right thing now? And yet, as much as he wished he could banish his conscience, such a decision would change him. If he betrayed his convictions, he could no longer laugh at the challenges to come. Surely God would bless him, even in this, but how, Nick could not fathom.

  16

  Night fell on Nick standing at the riverbank—the same location where a man had run toward his death. Now calm, the river reminded him of the spot on the San Marcos where his father’s sawmill churned the water. The green banks of the Choctaw River dropped at the perfect angle to provide a seat for a fisherman or a ramp for a frolicking diver. With its good rocky riverbed, this river wouldn’t be as difficult to span as he’d been told. If only the consequences weren’t so complex.

  It’d been so long since Nick had willingly left the city streets to forage through unmolested nature. Sure, he journeyed to the campsites where his lumberjacks worked in remote locations, but he never lingered. Whether to a tent or a railcar, he didn’t pause until he’d returned to the comforts of civilization.

  Anne would scoff to hear him describe this as wilderness. The gas streetlights threw their ghostly beams through the tree branches, reminding him that he hadn’t made much progress in his trek away from town. The sound of running water had drawn him close, and he found no reason to go any further.

  Nicholas had gambled before. He’d relocated to a bigger market, even though it meant giving up his smaller contracts. He’d purchased expensive equipment that could’ve bankrupted him had he lost a bid. That was part of the game. Success always involved risk, and God had faithfully smiled on his endeavors. And would continue to do so. He had to, right? As long as Nicholas followed the rules and obeyed the Bible, his fortunes would continue to rise, his domain would continue to expand. Wasn’t that the bargain?

  But he couldn’t see a way out of this dilemma. What could he do about what he’d overheard in Judge Calloway’s chambers? He knew what he couldn’t do—he couldn’t vote against that pernicious bridge. Not when he knew it was best for his neighbors.

  Finding a rabbit trail that led toward the lights, Nick dropped his hands into his pockets and started forward. How eagerly he’d jumped at the chance to be a county commissioner. How foolishly he’d thought that he would be immune to the temptations that had toppled stronger men than he. No, he wouldn’t accept a bribe. No, he didn’t solicit funds, but could he vote the truth if it went against his best interests? Could he sacrifice years of striving when only his enemies would realize what it’d cost him?

  God would know. A sigh, almost voiced, escaped. No one else would understand the temptation he faced. A better man would wonder that he even hesitated to expose the corruption. A weaker man would ridicule him for bringing about his own destruction. Only God witnessed his struggle and knew what ineffectual weapons Nick possessed to fight with.

  But he would fight. He had to. Anne was right. Somewhere along the line he’d let Ian and Ophelia decide his course. His progress had been so swift he hadn’t questioned if he was headed in the right direction.

  Now on city streets, Nick wasn’t surprised to find himself nearing the Pucketts’ home. His friends in Garber, his acquaintances and peers, would only remind him of all he was giving up. Their excesses and frivolity would weaken his resolve at a time when he was vulnerable. He wanted Anne.

  His knock at the door brought immediate results. Mrs. Puckett led him to the parlor, where Mr. Puckett was popping corn. Nick stood in the doorway and watched Mr. Puckett rattle the popper over the fire one last time before laying it on the hearth and opening the latch with a rag. Anne sat on the sofa with Sammy at her side, a napkin spread to catch a scoopful.

  She straightened when she saw him, her smile disappeared.

  “I made it back in one piece.” Nick took a chair beside the window.

  Mr. Puckett poured more kernels from a paper bag into the popper. “How was your trip? Profitable, I hope.”

  Nick couldn’t take his eyes off Anne as she broke off the white fluff for Sammy to eat. The simple calico dress she wore softened her appearance. The fitted sleeves defined her slender arms. The crocheted collar framed her face, although she was doing her best to keep turned away from him.

  “I suppose the trip was a success, but I wouldn’t want to repeat the journey. I’d much rather stay here.”

  Anne remained engrossed with her handful of popcorn. Mrs. Puckett’s chin swung from her to Nick and back again. Her brow creased with worry. “What’s the matter? Did something happen at the office today?”

  “I didn’t go to the office,” Anne said.

  “You didn’t?” Mrs. Puckett blinked. “Whyever not?”

  “Please come back.” Nick leaned forward. “You can work for me for as long as you’d like.”

  “But how will you keep that she-devil happy? What else will you have to sacrifice for her?” Sammy pulled on Anne’s arm, probably confused by her low shaky voice. Her chin dropped and she smoothed the child’s hair.

  “You don’t have to worry about Ophelia again,” Nicholas said.

  “I’d imagine not,” Mrs. Puckett said. “Anne’s worth a dozen of that woman.”

  The metal corn popper clanged against the hearth. Mr. Puckett released the wooden handle and wiped his hands on the rag. “Ophelia Stanford has bigger concerns than Anne’s employment. According to Joel, Mr. Stanford’s been keeping company with another woman.”

  “Robert! That’s hearsay,” Mrs. Puckett said.

  “But from a trustworthy source.”

  Anne appeared unsurprised and ignored the revelation. Defiance stamped her features. Righteous indignation that was her due. “Are you certain you want to be here? You’re risking the displeasure of the almighty Stanfords. We mustn’t strain your relationship, especially before the election.”

  Sammy turned on her lap and reached for her shoulder. Cradling him, she stood. “It’s his bedtime. If you’ll excuse me—”

  “Don’t go.” Nick was on his feet. He couldn’t let their rift continue. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Then talk.” She didn’t even blink.

  Mr. Puckett’s head cocked as he cleared his throat. His wife wrung her hands. “Perhaps we’d better go upstairs. I’ll take Sammy for you.”

  “If Mr. Lovelace has something to say, he can say it here. He’s not shy.”

  He had nothing to promise her. Nothing to weigh in his favor. All h
e could hope was that she’d show him compassion. Without her support he might not be able follow through with his decision.

  “Please, Anne. I-I need you.”

  The light from the fireplace flickered across her face as she studied him. He prayed she saw his desperation, saw how badly he didn’t want to return to his room alone without sharing his burden. Her lips parted, she nodded once and Mrs. Puckett reached for Sammy. Handing him off, she strode past Nick and out through the kitchen door, not slowing until she reached the gazebo in the garden.

  One wrong word from him and she’d go inside so quickly he’d see only a blur. Strung as tightly as a trip wire on a rabbit trap, Anne picked at the dead morning-glory vine still clinging to the lattice. She separated a dried bloom from its stalk and gently pried it open. While he was gone, she’d mustered up her anger daily but found it hard to sustain. As she planned for her future— hers and Sammy’s— she wanted him to appreciate how well she was managing. Going about town like a real lady, leaving her pistol home, chatting with the young mothers about child-rearing. Soon you wouldn’t be able to pick her out of the herd. She’d even had time to wonder if a pair of earbobs mightn’t be useful, since she’d taken to wearing her hair up.

  But he’d given up on her. He’d yielded to Ophelia’s demands before Anne had a chance to adjust to her new situation.

  Nick’s neatly folded jacket dropped on the iron bench that stood beside her.

  “You were right to distrust the Stanfords,” he said at last.

  She stared ahead through the tangled vine. “I’m not afraid. I’ve faced worse.”

  “I know you have, and I hope I can face this with half your courage.”

  Anne turned. She’d never seen Nicholas like this before—not even when he was staring down a gun barrel. His untidy clothing and his careworn expression weren’t merely the product of his recent journey. Normally, he’d look assured wearing a flour sack, but tonight he stood before her more rumpled than his detachable collar.