He shook off those haunting and painful thoughts as their meals arrived. Jake determined to enjoy his present company.
Looking at Emily Sundberg, Jake wondered what was not to enjoy. While he didn’t recollect a whole lot about that summer he’d stayed with Granddad, he did remember kissing Em and liking her real well as a friend too. She’d been able to keep up with Eden and him, which, Jake recalled, angered Eden.
And now here she sat, sharing a late breakfast with him—and at a time he needed a friend too. But could he fence in his feelings for Em and be satisfied with her friendship? He’d have to, at least until he returned to Montana in a few days.
She gave him a curious glance, and Jake realized how hard he’d been staring.
“Will you say grace for us, Jake?”
“I’d be happy to.” He bowed his head and spoke a few words of thanks for this day, this meal, and this most pleasant company.
“Oh, that was so very nice, Deputy. Wasn’t that a nice prayer, Em?”
“Very nice. Thanks, Jake.”
“You’re most welcome.” It tickled him to watch Miss Hopper’s curls bob and sway. Glory, but they looked like they weighed more than she did! “So what do you ladies do when you’re not teaching school or attending dances?” He forked a bite of fried eggs into his mouth. They’d been cooked in butter and tasted salty, rich, and good on an empty stomach.
“We usually find summer work,” Miss Hopper replied, “which we are actively seeking now.”
“I see.” Jake bit into his thickly sliced bread. Mmm . . . so fresh it almost melted in his mouth.
“Yes, otherwise I’m going to have to move back home,” Emily said, “or work at Sundbergs’ Creations and help my aunt.”
Jake didn’t understand her dilemma. “What’s wrong with either of those options?”
Emily sighed. “My family.”
“Your family?” Jake set down his fork and touched his napkin to the corners of his mouth. “They’re good people.”
“Oh, of course they are, and I love them dearly. Please don’t misunderstand. But I’m not a child any longer and shouldn’t rely on their assistance.”
“I’m fortunate that way,” Miss Hopper put in. “Granny expects me to be independent . . . at least until I find a husband.”
Jake had slipped in another bite so he couldn’t reply. But he’d picked up on Miss Hopper’s not-so-subtle hint. He didn’t dare even smirk. His older sister had ground into his head how important marriage was to every young woman. Girls dreamed of that day, even lived for it. Deidre had anyway. And Emily obviously wanted to lasso Andy Anderson into saying I do.
A surge of jealously ran through Jake, the likes of such he’d never felt before. But he couldn’t court Em—or any woman. Not unless he got an appointment from the president. As a marshal he’d have more administrative duties, meetings, dinners with state representatives, and less dangerous assignments. Although risks existed in every occupation, including ranching. Regardless, being appointed to a United States marshal by President Roosevelt didn’t look like it was in Jake’s immediate future.
Jake swallowed. “I’m sure the right man will come along soon, Miss Hopper.”
“Oh, please, call me Iris. After all, we’re friends.” She glanced at Em. “Right?”
“Right.” Emily smiled and her gaze met Jake’s.
“Right.” He smiled back. “Friends.” He hoped he could get that concept through his thick skull because everything inside of him wanted to be more than just Emily Sundberg’s friend.
CHAPTER 8
SMALL TALK ENSUED as they ate their meals. From what Emily gathered, Jake had several matters pressing in on him. “My next order of business is taking care of all the particulars for Granddad’s funeral.”
Emily set aside her fork. “What kind of particulars? Maybe Iris and I can help.”
“Well, now, maybe you can.”
Jake settled back in his chair, hooking one arm around its square and slatted back. Emily decided he looked very much like a lawman today in the black vest he wore over a striped shirt. And handsome—Jake certainly was that! Emily caught herself time and again admiring his physical attributes, from his neatly combed sandy-blond hair and his molasses-colored eyes to the tiny cleft in his stubbly chin and his strong-looking shoulders, which could very well be broader than even Poppa’s.
“I wonder if I should have some sort of luncheon after the service.”
“That’s customary,” Iris said, “although the church basement is far too small for a reception.”
Emily agreed. “What about Mr. Ollie’s house?”
“Um . . . ” He looked off in the distance, his gaze tapered.
Concerned mixed with curiosity filled her. “Is there a problem?”
“A couple that I can think of offhand. Don’t misunderstand; I don’t mind hosting. But, you see, Granddad was an elderly fellow, sick for a number of weeks. The house hasn’t had a good cleaning in I don’t know how long, and my aunt and uncle are there.”
“They are?” Emily wished her tone hadn’t sounded so incredulous.
Jake nodded and took a swallow of coffee. “Those two greedy souls are the reasons I moved into the hotel.”
“I wondered why you weren’t staying at Mr. Ollie’s house.”
“Now you know.” His gaze captured hers for the seemingly hundredth time this morning, and once again Emily didn’t possess the will to look away.
“Guess I’ll find a way to work around them.”
“We’ll clean the house for you, won’t we, Em?”
“Of course. Otherwise, if you prefer, Momma and Poppa will open their home for a luncheon. I’m sure of it.”
“Kind offer. I’ll keep it in mind just in case.”
“Our ladies’ auxiliary will make the meals.” Iris turned to Emily. “We’ll see most of them at choir practice tonight, and we can ask each lady to bring a dish or plate of something to share. The choir is supposed to sing at Mr. Stout’s memorial service on Tuesday anyway.” She smiled. “I should think the various foods will make for a grand buffet.”
“Marvelous idea.” Emily cast a glance at Jake, careful to keep her eyes fixed on his collar so she wouldn’t get stuck in those molasses-colored eyes again.
“I agree. A perfect solution.” Iris adjusted her eyeglasses.
“What do you think, Jake?” Emily smiled. “Problems solved.”
His lips moved as if he wanted to decline their offers, but then he smiled. “I’m touched, ladies. Deeply touched.” After sending Emily a meaningful stare, Jake turned to Iris and gave her a grin.
A blush spread across her pale cheeks.
The woman who’d waited on them came and collected their dirty dishes. After she left, Emily remembered her promise to Tante Agnes that she and Iris would mind the shop for a couple of hours this afternoon so she could get several errands done.
“Iris, we should go. Tante Agnes is probably wondering where we are.”
“Oh, yes, of course . . . ”
Jake stood, and then held the chairs for Emily and Iris. “Well, this has been a most enjoyable meal.”
“Thank you for breakfast, Deputy . . . I mean, Jake.”
“Yes, thanks, Jake.”
“You’re both welcome.”
They strolled to the counter where Jake paid the bill. Emily and Iris waited outside as he finished his transaction. Glancing at the overcast sky, Emily thought of Poppa and said another prayer that his trip to Milwaukee would be an uneventful one.
Iris slid her hand around Emily’s elbow. “The deputy is quite handsome, isn’t he?”
“I suppose.” Guilt pressed down on Emily. She felt like a traitor, attracted to the man who’d captured her best friend’s interest.
Unable to meet Iris’s gaze, she stared into the street, filled with wagons and buggies. Children ran down the walk, shouting and laughing. Oh, but how could she have betrayed Iris in this way? It’s just that Jake had some strange effect
on her—always did. However, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe anything would come of it. Didn’t he say his job was a widow-maker? He wasn’t a marrying man, which Emily had already sensed. But, like many men, he was an accomplished flirt—which probably came in handy when he interrogated females. Of course they’d cave in to his inquiry, what with that charm and his good looks.
So how did she make Iris understand that?
The object of her thoughts exited the diner and donned his wide-brimmed hat. Not exactly a fashionable derby, but it complemented Jake’s rugged appearance.
“What are you ladies doing with the rest of your day?”
“Oh, well, let’s see . . . after helping Emily’s aunt, we’re going to cut flowers in Granny’s garden and take them over to church for altar decorations. Then it’s choir practice until six o’clock. After that we’ll eat a light supper, followed by a bath—”
Emily jerked Iris’s arm. “He asked over our day, not evening.”
Iris swallowed a giggle. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to imply that Em and I bathe together.”
“Iris!” She glanced at Jake. To her relief, he appeared thoroughly amused.
“I thought nothing of it, Miss Hopper.”
“Iris.”
Jake hesitated for a fraction of a second before inclining his head slightly. “Iris.”
A man called out his name. “Jake! Jake Edgerton!”
Emily looked toward the street and saw Mr. Schulz in his sleek black surrey, motioning for Jake. She knew the prominent attorney through her parents. He frequently attended fund-raisers and dinner parties at their home.
“It’s urgent, Jake. I’ve been looking all over town for you.” He spotted Emily and sent her a quick but friendly wave.
She lifted her hand, returning the gesture.
“Ladies, please excuse me.”
“Of course . . . ” Iris stepped toward him, a bold move for a lady. “But you’ll be in attendance tomorrow, won’t you, Jake?”
He paused. “Attendance?” His brows came together and a curious light entered his gaze.
“At church.” Iris shifted into demure. “Just a few blocks west of here. The church with the loudest bell in town.”
Jake grinned as he moved toward the street. “All right. I’ll be there.” His gaze snagged Emily’s. “See you tomorrow.”
“I apologize for interrupting your day, son, but it’s that confounded aunt and uncle of yours.”
“Now what?” Jake hated to hear.
“I just received a bill for the purchase of a new conveyance and a team of horses! What’s more, I discovered that yesterday Dwight requested a copy of the title to Ollie’s house—make that your house. You’re going to have to tell them, Jake. You’re the executor of your grandfather’s estate. He left them nothing.”
“You’re right. The time has come.” He eyed Mr. Schulz. “Do you have all the legal documents?”
“Got them right here.” Mr. Schulz patted his jacket pocket.
“Good.”
As they left the city behind, neither continued the conversation, the only sounds now coming from horse hooves pounding the dirt road and twittering birds in the leafy treetops. Jake took this time to ruminate over his various options. Aunt Bettina and Uncle Dwight wouldn’t cooperate if he strong-armed them.
They passed the Sundbergs’ home. Jake saw none of the family members outdoors, but a spotted dog ran from the barn and onto the grass to bark at them.
“Easy, boy.” Jake grinned as the dog sat and watched them ride by.
When they reached Granddad’s place, Mr. Schulz pulled into the brick drive. Jake glanced up at the spacious home, constructed in a cream-color brick. Painted green trim framed each of the windows, and the four in the front had been opened to let in the springtime air.
“Be firm, Jake.”
“I will. But we’ll go in easy. Agreed?”
“As you wish.” Mr. Schulz tugged on the reins and halted the buggy.
Jumping out, Jake eyed an impressive wagonette with four leather seats and detachable black fringy roof parked near the doorway. He guessed that his aunt and uncle’s intent was to load up as many of Granddad’s belongings as the brand-new conveyance would hold.
“They will have to return this vehicle at once!” Mr. Schulz eyed it with an indignant air. “Of all the nerve.”
“If it gets Aunt Bettina and Uncle Dwight back to Chicago and out of our way, it might be worth letting them have it.” Jake walked to the wide front door and made use of the heavy brass knocker.
“This is your house, Jake. You should walk right in.”
“We’re going in easy. Remember?”
Mr. Schulz gave a nod and squared his shoulders as Jake rapped on the door a second time.
A minute passed. Then another. Jake knocked again.
Aunt Bettina finally came to the door. “Well, what a surprise.” Her amber eyes bounced between Mr. Schulz and him. She folded her arms, looking suspicious. “What do you want? If it’s about the bill Dwight and I submitted to your office, Mr. Schulz—”
“It most certainly is.”
“Aunt Bettina, we need to talk to you and Uncle Dwight.”
“I told you to handle the funeral arrangements, Jake. And you, Mr. Schulz . . . I expect you to pay the bills. It’s very simple.”
“Not that simple.” Jake pushed open the door and stepped around his aunt’s slender frame.
Mr. Schulz followed.
Aunt Bettina’s skirts swished as she pivoted. “This is an outrage!” She called for Uncle Dwight, who ambled into the foyer in one of Granddad’s silk smoking jackets.
Jake’s neck muscles tensed.
“Problems with funeral plans, Johnny?” Dwight fingered his long mustache.
Jake didn’t flinch at the nickname, although no one called him Johnny except Dwight—and it wasn’t an endearment.
“The funeral arrangements are made. But I thought Mr. Schulz and I should deliver your copy of Granddad’s will in person.” Jake strode to the parlor and halted at the sight. How did two people make such a mess? Books and papers were strewn about, cluttering tabletops. A lamp had been overturned and never righted. The printed blue settee looked wrinkled and mussed.
“Well, hand over the document and be on your way.”
Hearing his uncle’s impatience, Jake turned to face the man. Might as well get to the point. “Granddad left his estate to me.”
“What?” Aunt Bettina made a march toward him. “But I’m his daughter.”
“Biologically.” Mr. Schulz gave an indignant snort.
“How dare you, you miserable attorney! Are you implying that my father disowned me?”
“Legally he did. But he never ceased praying for your soul.” Mr. Schulz had already pulled the will from his jacket’s inside pocket.
After snatching it, Uncle Dwight read the document. Jake watched his aunt, gauging her reaction. She stared at her husband with a grim set to her mouth. A handsomely attractive woman, Aunt Bettina’s looks had most likely spared her and Dwight from numerous consequences, jail being one of them. Granddad made mention of the fact once. As for appearances, Jake remembered his mother being pretty too, but in a different way. Ma had been a hard-working woman with a soft heart. Bettina, on the other hand, looked soft on the outside, but possessed a heart of cold, hard steel.
“We will contest this piece of rubbish.” Uncle Dwight folded the parchment and slapped it against his palm. “It’s been altered, and you, Johnny, no doubt swindled the old man on his death bed.”
Jake’s right fist balled. “I did no such thing.” One more insult, and he’d throw Dwight out the door on his backside. And then he’d return the conveyance, and these two could walk home for all he cared. “I suggest that if you want to ride home to Chicago in that fancy new buggy of yours, you’d best watch your manners.”
“You have no say as to whether we leave or don’t leave,” his aunt said. “And I’ve earned this house and everyt
hing in it.”
“Earned?” Jake cocked his head. “How’s that? You never worked a day in your life.”
She raised a hand and Jake snatched her wrist before she could slap him. Whew-whee! For a woman of no means she certainly put on airs. “I wouldn’t do that if I was you, auntie dear.”
She pulled her hand free.
“As for rights, Jake has every right.” Mr. Schulz stepped up with his pointy chin lifted in confidence. “This house belongs to him.” He went on to list the number of judges, attorneys, and other community members who would attest to the fact that Granddad left his estate to his only grandson. “So contest it if you must. However, you should know that it will be quite expensive.”
“Plenty of attorneys will work on commission.” Dwight’s chin rose equally as high.
“Not when they find out it’s a losing case. You have no grounds. This will was prepared long ago, not on Ollie’s death bed as you’ve so ignorantly stated.”
Uncle Dwight’s face reddened.
“However, I have a proposition for you.” Jake regarded his aunt. “How ’bout you take the new carriage and the team? In addition, I’ll give you ten minutes to pack your belongings and grab whatever you wish from the house.”
“Jake, no!” A look of outrage furrowed Mr. Schulz’s brow.
He lifted a hand to forestall further argument. “But you’ve got ten minutes, understand? After that, I will physically usher you out the door. Then once you leave, I never want to see you or hear from you again. Am I clear?”
Aunt Bettina weighed her options for a moment then ran for the curved stairway.
Uncle Dwight’s thin lips moved as if he wanted to debate the matter further.
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