Romance in Rapid

by Kari Trumbo

Constance gripped his arm. How had he forgotten about her grip? “Oh, Clive. It’s so horrible. First, he tricked me into following him, then he took what he wanted under a tree in the park. Dunworthy saw us...”

  He stopped and held up his hand. “Constance.” He waited until she stopped prattling on. “I heard everything you said. While it may have been rude to listen, you did have a very personal conversation in the middle of the path. Loudly.”

  She stepped back and stared at him. “What will you do?”

  Did she really think he’d be so horrible as to use her words against her? He wouldn’t do that to someone, not even to get his job back. “Why don’t you tell me the truth. Why did you feel like you had to ruin your friendship with Frances over him? He’s not worth Frances.”

  Even the dim light couldn’t keep the sorrow from her eyes. She shook her head, slowly, and made her way to a bench along the path, sat, then waited for him. He took his own seat far enough away that she couldn’t hold him there, and she cleared her throat softly. “When Frances told me she’d gone to the paper and was asked to go about town with someone she didn’t know...I saw an opportunity. I didn’t want to hurt Frances, she’s sweet, but I’m in a predicament and I need to find a solution right away. I was mad at first, warned her not to do it, that Father would be very displeased. It gave me an idea. If I could get the paper to cover her, and make her look worse than me, father might forget about Reginald and his wandering. He might approve the match and I wouldn’t have to worry about…” She rubbed her waist, still cinched tightly in her stays.

  “When she had her accident by the lake, I had the opportunity to get close to Turner. I talked to him the whole walk back to the carriage. I’ve always been good at getting what I want out of men, and I learned that he had family in Rapid he hadn’t seen yet, Dunworthy. Family he didn’t want anyone else to know about. I told him I knew Dunworthy worked at the Union with you. He sent his footman to go get him before we came back. It’s one of the reasons it took over two hours to get back to you.”

  The pieces fell into place. It shouldn’t have taken them so long to return with the carriage. It was only a three-mile walk. In two hours, they could have crawled…or dawdled. “I’d wondered about that. You didn’t know that Dunworthy was under orders to avoid any story about Turner? So, you thought it was the perfect way to destroy Frances’s reputation.”

  She frowned, more malicious than sad. “No, I knew. That’s why I wanted him to find you and Frances at the lake, alone. He couldn’t cover Turner, but you were fair game. I thought my problems were solved. Except, she didn’t end up in the paper. Dunworthy failed me once again. I kept trying to be nice to Frances, help her out. She was so frightened to be caught alone with a man, but I needed her to, and Turner was more than willing.”

  “But you didn’t send her outside last night. She did that on her own.” He couldn’t quite understand how she’d orchestrated that.

  “Yes, that’s what made it perfect. I knew Turner would follow her, because I told him that you wanted her to learn romance, and to do as he pleased with her, that she was little more than a hired skirt. Dunworthy couldn’t help but follow. He has a nose for a good story and recognizes when people are at their weakest.”

  “So, you lied to everyone to cover up your own sin, and destroyed Frances in the process? Do you have any idea what those words did to her, the danger it put her in?” Not to mention how angry she’d been with him over words he’d never actually said.

  Dunworthy formed from the darkness and laughed. “Davidson. I keep finding you alone with lovely ladies. You’d think you’d know better by now. Constance,” he nodded to her, “would Davidson solve your little problem?”

  “I should think he’d suffice, as long as Father was willing to give him a job and I could keep my allowance. He certainly doesn’t make enough as a reporter.”

  Dunworthy laughed and held out his hand to help Constance off the bench. “That is the truth, though now that Clive no longer works for the Union, perhaps I can convince Marksman to give me a little more.”

  Clive jumped off the bench. He felt his whole life slipping away from him. There was darkness and freedom just a few paces away, but what would Dunworthy print about him? He couldn’t fight back now. Marksman would never listen. “No, I want no part of this.”

  “But Clive, you’re perfect. Everyone has seen you out on the town with Constance. When that baby comes a bit early, everyone will just assume you couldn’t keep your hands off her. She is a pretty thing.” Dunworthy ran his hand down Constance’s cheek to her neck and down to the bare shoulder. The only thing stopping him was the low neckline of her gown.

  That’s exactly what he was worried about. Frances would assume the same. She’d always been so stubborn about his feelings for Constance. Would she believe the truth?

  “I won’t marry you, Constance.”

  She laughed. “You won’t have a choice, Clive. Thanks to Mr. Dunworthy and the Union, my father will read about our little indiscretion. Mr. Dunworthy will make it sound so much more scandalous than it really is. Father will insist we wed immediately, and then he’ll have us rush off to his private estate in Massachusetts until after the baby comes. Once it grows enough, so that no one can tell when it was born, we’ll come back.”

  “No, I will fight this. I’ll disappear if I have to, but I won’t marry you.” He couldn’t, not when he’d made too many promises to himself about a blonde with lavender eyes who needed him more.

  Dunworthy laughed. “You’ve spent every minute you could trying to convince Marksman that I’m not worth keeping around, that I don’t have a moral bone in my body, yet you can get this poor woman with child and run away? Your name would be tainted forever. You’d never work again.” He laughed and pulled Constance close, they looked down at him as if he were the foul man who’d betrayed her. “What would you like to do, Constance? Take him to your father now or wait until the story comes out in the paper.”

  Constance’s mouth tipped slightly in triumph. “I think it’s time Father knew about his coming grandchild.”

  The oil in her lamp burned down until it was nothing more than a glowing ember of a wick, and still Clive didn’t return. He’d gone for a walk after supper and she’d assumed he would come back. Assumed he’d tell her what ate at him so terribly that he’d gotten angry with her. But she was left to worry.

  Rissa had gone to bed hours ago, but Frances had moved her lamp from the desk in Clive’s room down to the table to wait for him. What possibly could have kept him? Perhaps he would come in the morning. It seemed foolish now that she’d waited for so long. It would look bad if he returned so late in the night, but no one would ever know she’d waited for him, worried about him. Prayed for him. About an hour after he’d left, she’d been hit with a powerful fear that he was in some sort of danger. She’d given in to the urge to pray, but he’d never returned to allay her fears.

  The wick burned out and plunged the kitchen into darkness as she felt her way back up to the room. His room. The scent of him wrapped around her, not as comforting as his arms, but it would do. It had to. His arms might never pull her close. She dressed for bed quietly in the dark, but after writing for hours, and worrying about Clive, she couldn’t settle to sleep. She pictured him at the table with her, leaning toward her, engaged in the work of making her story better. And he had. His suggestions had made rewriting the second chapter easier. She’d been bolder with Steve’s character. Clive would have to see the connection soon. And if he did, then what? What did she want from him? She wanted to prove that those feelings were real. She wanted to be kissed like a heroine in one of the many novels she’d read. And just like them, she wanted her happily ever after. Was that so much to ask?

  There was still a niggling doubt about Constance, but if they lived in Deadwood and they never saw Constance again, did it matter? Had Constance proved to be a friend at all? Constance had taken her friendship and thrown it in the rubbish heap. Her father wo
uld never give permission for Constance to marry Clive anyway. He had no wealth, nothing the Charitys would be proud of. He was just a hardworking man, not someone good enough for their only daughter, but more than sufficient for her.

  There was no reason she couldn’t sway Clive’s heart, or at least try. He’d asked her to believe in herself, to trust him, and after he returned, she would. If he didn’t want her to use a man’s name, then she wouldn’t. It didn’t matter anymore. Misty Raines had always been just fine, and it would be now, too, or even Frances, if that’s what would make him happy. It wasn’t worth fighting over. There were too many important things in life to fuss over a name she didn’t like anyway.

  Frances snuggled down into the bed and closed her eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. She was just too happy. She pushed the covers down and found the matches. The thick candle sitting on the desk would provide sufficient light for her purpose. She pulled a blank sheet of paper from the bottom of her stack and gripped the pencil in her shaking fingers.

  Maxine had to rely on Steve, though she hated to admit it. Her spread would never succeed without his help. She wrapped her hand around his muscular arm and he branded her with his heat. Her hand slid and he grabbed hold of it. “Maxine, you must be strong now. Those rustlers want to see you weak in court. Be strong, girl.” Couldn’t he feel the pull between them. Was she the only one?

  Frances rested the pencil against her lip. Maxine and her lawyer needed to feel just what she’d felt with Clive, they needed the energy, the tension, the spark. She kept writing until the candle gutted and the first rays of morning entered her window. Frances stretched and flipped through the pages she’d finished, excited to share them with Clive. She’d finished almost a third of the story. It had come to her almost as she wrote it, her fingers could hardly keep up. If she weren’t so tired, she’d have just kept going.

  “Maxine. You must wait to kiss your man until I learn just what it feels like. Do you think you can do that for me?” She set the pencil down on the paper and her eyelids felt like lead plates, her arms like she’d done laundry all night. She stumbled to the bed and let sleep finally claim her tumbling thoughts.

  Chapter 18

  “I don’t believe for a moment that you did anything with my daughter. I saw how you looked at Frances, and how you looked at Constance last night, and I don’t think it was because you were disgusted with Constance, either. But I’d like to know how I’m supposed to deal with this story when it comes out in the morning? The only reason you aren’t going to be wed tomorrow is the fact that I don’t like you. You’ve made this difficult for all involved.”

  “I’ve made it difficult? What about your daughter?” Clive dragged his hand through his hair, wishing again he hadn’t gotten so angry. If he’d stayed home with Frances, he wouldn’t be in this spot. If Frances saw that article before he could get to her and explain, she might just pack and catch the next stage to Deadwood. He’d never see her again. Desperation forced his hand.

  “I don’t know what you can do, sir. I just know that if the baby exists, he doesn’t belong to me. I’ve never done more than talk with Constance. We didn’t even dance. I swear it.”

  “I’m not surprised. You aren’t the type of man Constance generally goes after. I knew from the start she was telling a story to cover for another of her misdeeds. You could say I’m used to it by now. I’m sorry that she dragged you into this, and I sent a message to the paper in an attempt to stop the story, but it will look like a father trying to save his daughter’s name. I doubt he will listen to me.”

  It was true, Marksman would think the story was even more likely after reading it. “Reginald wants nothing to do with her, but it sounds like he’s the father.”

  Jacob laughed with a dry cough. “My daughter probably doesn’t know who the father is, I hate to say, and it doesn’t appear she cares. I promised I would find a husband for her if she kept on this path of unbecoming behavior. It would seem I’m too late. She will not wed now. At least, not until the problem fixes itself.”

  The rich always had ways of making situations disappear. But didn’t that just create more problems? Wasn’t life a little better by facing it? “She might be able to, but it would have to be very quick.”

  “Unless you’re suddenly offering to be her groom, I don’t know who’d possibly take her on. No, I’ll send her off to live at my home in Massachusetts. When the time comes, she can come back with a nanny who’ll act as her lady’s maid. The maid will have a small child. No one will be any wiser about it. I do wish I could as easily save your reputation. I can write you a letter of reference. Perhaps another paper would be happy to have you? I did enjoy your articles in the paper, your business stories were especially insightful.”

  Clive held his tongue. Better to get a reference than nothing at all. It was more than he’d expected to get from Jacob Charity. At least he wouldn’t end up with a wife he didn’t want. That was a blessing. “Thank you, sir. That would help. I’m planning to go to Deadwood in a week, see if they have need of a reporter there. A reference would go a long way to getting a new position.”

  Mr. Charity nodded and pulled out a sheet with his name stamped on the top. He wrote a quick letter, blotted it dry, and handed it over. “Do take care with whom you walk at night, young man. Many fathers might not be as knowledgeable. You could’ve easily found yourself in the middle of a shotgun wedding.”

  Clive crushed his hat in his fists. He knew how very close he’d come. “I won’t forget it sir, thank you.”

  If Clive rushed, he could still make it home, wake Frances, who’d no doubt be in bed at this hour, and tell her everything. Tell her the truth, even tell her he loved her. If she read the paper before he had the chance to explain... It was unthinkable.

  A man stepped out of the Last Chance saloon and Clive ran straight into him, coming close to toppling them both. The drunk hauled his arm back and connected with Clive’s nose faster than any drunk should’ve been able to move. A deputy stepped out of the shadows.

  “You both, with me. Now.”

  Clive clenched his fists. If he ran, he’d never convince them he’d done nothing. “Sir. I have to get home. If I don’t, my whole life could be ruined.”

  The deputy wound Clive’s arms behind his back against the wall of the saloon next to the fellow who’d just ruined his night. What else could go wrong? If only he’d stayed home! Clive wanted to scream. How could all of this be happening to him? He just wanted to get home to Frances. How sweet that sounded in his head. Home to Frances.

  Lord, you got me. I’ve been trying to do this my own way for the last day. I didn’t listen to Mom when she told me to talk to you. I wanted her to do it. I’ve got to stop handing her the reins to my life and letting her fix things. Can you help me out of this mess and help me make this up to Frances?

  The cells were dingy, and he sat there for hours, giving him plenty of time to think of everything he could have done differently. Right before noon, his mother popped her head in the door of the jail house.

  “Clive Davidson, what in the world are you doing here?” She slipped all the way in and planted her hands on her hips. “And just what is this I read in the paper about your wedding today at the Presbyterian church?”

  “Mom, none of this is what it seems. I’m not marrying anyone today and I shouldn’t be here. I got in the way of a flying fist.” He clutched the bars. “Please tell me Frances didn’t see that paper.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know. Does she usually read it?”

  He couldn’t answer that. She’d only once mentioned that she’d read his article, but they’d always had other things to talk about. “Can’t you run back home and just make sure she doesn’t?”

  “Don’t you think I ought to get you out of here so you can worry about who you are, or aren’t, marrying today?”

  There would be no fighting with his mother once she had an idea. “You’ll need to get the sheriff. I’m not sure where to find him mid
day.”

  “Leave that to me. I’ll go down to City Hall. It’ll take a while to walk all that way.”

  “Mom, please. On the way, check the house. If Frances sees...”

  His mother blinked at him. “Why are you so concerned she not see the story about your wedding? Wouldn’t she be happy for you?”

  He raked his hands through his hair. “No, no she wouldn’t. Please.”

  “I’ll check the house, but I’m not waiting around. I’m going to go find the sheriff.”

  He banged his forehead against the bars. “I’ll be right here. Praying she doesn’t see or hear about this mess.”

  The man who’d punched him the night before sat up from his cot. He looked as if he’d aged a decade while the liquor wore off. “My head feels like it’s been split with dynamite. What am I doing here? I didn’t drink that much.”

  “You came out of the saloon and caught me unawares. Unfortunately, the deputy saw it and we both ended up here to dry off. Though, I didn’t wet my whistle to begin with.”

  “Tough, that.” The man rested his head in his hands. “Cornelius Mac is my name, and I’m sorry I got us both in here. Guess it’s time to start paying attention to my tab.”

  Clive closed his eyes. “Might.”

  “I used to have a wife, kids, good job. She left, you know? Went back east. Sent a certificate of divorce. I didn’t even know a woman could do that. Guess they can do about whatever they want now.”

  Suddenly, a thought occurred. “You looking to marry again, have a kid?” Clive pressed his face to the bars to see Cornelius better.

  “I guess I am. When I had a wife, I provided fine for her.”

  Would the Lord see it as revenge? He didn’t know but something deep inside told him that Cornelius was better for Constance than living alone and losing her child. “We need to send a note to Jacob Charity.”

  “Jacob? We used to be business partners long ago, friends at one time.”