by Jillian Hart
Perhaps because he had saved her, been the kind of man at heart that her pa was not. When she was her most vulnerable, hurt and betrayed, Wyatt had helped her. He rode after Pa and tracked him down, even if he had recovered no money from the gambling old man. He'd even had him thrown in jail for a few nights, just to think about his misdeeds. And now Wyatt was keeping her safe as he escorted her to town. He'd stood by her far more often than any one person ever had.
Not that she needed to lean on anyone for long.
She could smell town before she actually saw it. A disagreeable odor wafted on the brisk afternoon wind; yet it was the sight of the town in broad daylight that offended her more. Numerous tents were scattered along the wide, flat stretch of the yellow-brown riverbank, crowded together in various states of repair. Unwashed clothing and bedding could be viewed from some of the open flaps, as well as the sleeping men inside.
Unpainted buildings marched in a long line down the dirt street. Saloons emitted the sound of random gunfire, men's brazen shouts, and tinny piano music. In the brothels, many brightly dressed women stood in plain view, looking out the parlor windows or standing on the street smoking cigars, all awaiting customers.
Garnet batted at a couple persistent flies. "Most men are walking around in their underwear."
"The brutes," Wyatt teased, his breath tickling her ear when he leaned close.
"I could have worn my chemise to town had I known underwear was the fashion."
That made him laugh, and she was glad. Garnet knew she was out of her element here. She thought of the pleasant town back home, of its clean streets and friendly shops. Fresh green trees hugged the lane, giving way to neatly kept little houses and freshly painted storefronts and the niceties of churches and schools. How her heart ached for home.
"Garnet," Golda squeaked. "Strange men are looking at us."
They were. The men riding down Main Street stopped their horses to stare. Windows in the saloons and gaming halls filled with curious faces. Men climbed out of their tents wearing only bright red union suits and watched, bottles in hand.
As they progressed down the street, Garnet had never felt this uncomfortable. The whole town stood silent, staring at the three of them. She felt like a spectacle, like a tropical bird lost in this foreign yellow-brown country.
She was also intensely aware of Wyatt's hands edging toward the walnut grips of his holstered revolvers.
"Here's the general store," he said in a low voice, not daring to look at her.
"I'll go in here and offer my services to the shopkeeper," Garnet decided. Her hand shook, but she was determined to still it. "I'm excellent at mathematics and meticulous at record-keeping. Perhaps they can use help."
Wyatt fought a smile. "If you need a recommendation, I'll be happy to tell any prospective employer how well you scrubbed my drawers."
That man! Garnet blushed. "Since you think you're so funny, I'm going to send you to locate young Mr. Lowell's tent and chaperone Golda. That will teach you to make wisecracks in my company."
Wyatt lifted one brow, silently laughing. "That's a cruel punishment."
"I know." Warmth glittered inside her, and she bit her cheek to keep from chuckling in the middle of town. "Golda intends to return Lance's meager amount of gold dust. Please see that she does so."
"But Garnet." Golda's bottom lip pulled into a deeper pout. "We ought to keep the gold. Perhaps it will be useful for our journey home."
"A respectable lady does not accept gifts from a man, especially one she does not know." Red-hot anger burned in her chest, anger at Golda's stubborn refusal to admit her folly. "Return that measly dust. Then come join me in the general store. We must secure employment."
"But I've never had to work before."
"Perhaps it's high time. I fear you've been spoiled terribly by all of us, and only now the ill effects are starting to show."
"That's unfair," Golda frowned, puckering up her pretty face. High red color of what could only be anger burned across her cheeks. "I am to go to college next fall and study music."
"Not if we can't raise enough money to buy seats on the next stage out of here."
"Ma'am?" A rail-thin, rawboned man stepped forward. A thin mustache lined his upper lip, hopping when he spoke. His gray eyes were kind as he took off his hat nervously. "Couldn't help overhearin' yer problem. I sure would be happy ta give ya my gold. Don't know if it would be enough, though."
Garnet stared at the ungroomed stranger and saw only the honest intention to help. "It's very kind of you, sir, but I couldn't accept."
"Why not? T'would be no trouble a'tall," the man assured her. "I would consider it an honor helpin' out two fine ladies such as yerselves."
How kind. Of course, Pa was kind, too, when he wanted something. "Thank you very much, but it wouldn't be proper for us to take your gold."
Aware of the skinny man's downcast look but at a loss as to how to fix it, she caught Wyatt's gaze. He held out his hand and she took it. Her skin heated when their palms touched. He accompanied her up the stairs, then opened the glass door for her. She basked in his protective presence, in the warmth of his smile.
"Don't worry. No one will harm you while I'm here." He tipped his hat back, revealing his eyes. Something wondrous burned there, an emotion inviting and real.
Could it be? Did he care for her? Garnet's heart squeezed. How she wanted to see more of that emotion shine in his beautiful dark eyes. How she wished . . . well, she wished for many things that would never come true. And this one wouldn't either. A man as handsome as Wyatt Tanner would hardly desire her.
Her heart felt raw and aching.
"I expect some kind of repayment for accompanying your sister today." Wyatt managed a smile, and it softened his chiseled face, making her see past the plain miner's garb to the man of substance beneath.
"I will reward you appropriately for the torture." She smiled in spite of herself. It wasn't fair to find humor in her sister's broken heart, but she did appreciate Wyatt's sacrifice. She suspected he didn't like Golda.
Before she could bask in his presence any longer, Wyatt tipped his hat to her and strode away. She ached to turn around and watch him go, all strong shoulders and powerful stride. Instead she stepped inside the store and squinted in the dark interior.
"You wouldn't be one of the ladies staying over at Tanner's place, would you?" a gregarious male voice boomed out directly behind her ear.
Garnet jumped, knocking over a shovel. The tool clattered to a noisy end on the dusty wood floor. She knelt quickly to retrieve the item, embarrassed by her clumsiness, when a large, attractive, and clean-looking male hand reached out and closed gently around the shovel's wooden handle.
Garnet gazed up into the face of a well-kept, clean-shaven, clean-smelling man. The shopkeeper offered a civilized smile, but he didn't bother to move away from her.
"I see the rumors are true. There is a pretty lady living on the outskirts of town," he said with a flash of white, well-brushed teeth. "Aren't I lucky my father sent me here to set up a store?"
A blush crept up her neck. He was entirely too close. And she didn't like it. So she stepped away.
"Let me formally introduce myself," he continued, stepping closer, with a slight limp. "I'm Barrett Carson, general partner. My father and my brothers own several stores throughout this little corner of Montana."
Garnet blinked. She wasn't impressed. Oh, sure, she could recognize the glint in his eyes, the warm lure in his voice, the charm in his speech as he tried to impress her. She could recognize a man's courting ways.
Nothing on this earth could be quite so dangerous.
Garnet set her chin. "I've come to inquire after employment," she said now, more than willing for a change of subject. "I am an exceedingly diligent worker. Are you hiring?"
"Well, no." Mr. Carson shook his head, scattering an attractive collection of hair. "There isn't enough business to warrant another employee, but I could use some woman's work around
here. Just look at the way the dust has accumulated on my shelves."
Garnet did not bother to hide her frown. "I could be persuaded to clean for you. I have cleaned house all my life. I am exceedingly efficient at scrubbing, you know. I'm sorry to point this out, but your floors are a dreadful sight. Might you want them cleaned as well?"
Mr. Carson agreed with a charming smile.
Garnet turned their conversation to services needing to be performed. In no time at all she had effectively talked him into a very pleasing wage.
* * *
Wyatt rescued the last of his clothes from the shanty. He was moving into the stable. The stable was proving to be a better refuge than he first thought. Garnet hadn't thought to come and scrub it down, for one thing. Golda wasn't there, clucking in fear of his presence like a chicken on butchering day.
Yes, Wyatt had peace and quiet to work out his leads, to think about his accumulating evidence. Besides, he'd rather share his life with a horse. His mare didn't leave him puzzled and confused and wanting something he couldn't have.
Just looking at Garnet across the length of the cabin was about all he could take. She was humming some cheerful little song, a pleasant tune that made him want to hear more. Having taken foodstuffs on credit from Carson's general store, she was frying up a salt pork and egg meal. The aroma made his mouth water.
Did she thank him for protecting her in town today? No. Did she thank him for escorting her empty-headed, manipulative little sister to Lowell's tent? No. Did she thank him for keeping the men in town from salivating all over her? No. She kept her back to him, humming that mesmerizing tune, happy with her good fortune over securing so many offers of employment.
Someone knocked at the open door.
Wyatt frowned, turning to face the newcomer. Probably another man from town, eager to see "Miss Garnet." Boy, didn't those offers just keep coming?
It had started with young Billy Bob offering Garnet and Golda use of his tent. Then, when the men learned of Garnet's new business, they had swarmed her in the street offering up their homes and businesses and clothes to be washed by a proper, experienced woman.
Garnet announced that any man could drop off a rucksack of laundry at the cabin. If they wanted complete cleaning services at their home, they could discuss such things at that time. Golda had not been happy to learn she would be expected to scrub those garments on the new washboard Garnet had purchased on credit from Carson's store.
Elmer Minks, the tall rawboned man who had politely offered his gold to Garnet, stood nervously outside the shack, his battered hat in hand.
Wyatt frowned at him. "What do you want?"
"Hear Miss Garnet is takin' in laundry." Elmer Minks's eyes lit with bright admiration when he said Garnet's name. "Now, I don't have a cabin to clean, bein' as I'm livin' in a tent. But tell Miss Garnet I do have me a mighty problem with my duds."
"You're not welcome here."
"Wyatt!" Garnet's sharp admonition rang through the cabin. She looked particularly attractive with the soft loose braid of her hair coiled artfully around her head, now that she had purchased hairpins from the store. The heat from the stove had steamed loose tendrils into soft gossamer curls that now framed her heart-shaped face. Worse, she looked even more pretty with pleasure alight in her blue-green eyes, the color as unusual and as striking as the woman herself.
It was his opinion that perhaps she ought to wait to speak to Elmer Minks until she looked less attractive.
Maybe in twenty years.
She crossed the cabin in two steps. "Hello, Mr. Minks. I remember your generous offer in town today. I hear you wish to hire me to do your laundry."
"Why, I'd be rightly honored, ma'am." Elmer's smile was bright enough to outshine the sun overhead.
Wyatt scowled. He had had enough of this nonsense. Men coming to the door with their filthy underwear, all smiling and putting on charm just to impress "Miss Garnet." Some even went so far as to shave.
Once again, she refused Elmer's generous offer of gold. It wasn't a lot of money, but judging by the size of that poke, it had to be a hundred dollars.
A woman who wouldn't take a man's money. It still amazed him. Especially since it didn't appear to be a family trait. Young Golda, who had stepped in to take over frying the salt pork, was still pouting. Her silence filled the shack despite Garnet's lively chatter. Above the promise of clean clothes by Friday and the fee of a dollar in gold, the girl's sullen mood reigned supreme.
Oh, Wyatt hadn't been fooled when he escorted the reluctant Golda to Lance's tent. He was certain she did not return the gold. And in truth, he didn't care. He'd been too busy watching every man he came across for a sign of a limp or a bandaged head. But too many men wore hats to tell for sure.
"I can't believe that." Garnet laid a hand on her throat, her eyes wide with astonishment as she closed the door. "Mr. Minks just proposed to me."
"What?" Golda dropped the spoon with a clatter. "You got a marriage proposal?"
"The second one today." Garnet nodded, clearly amused. "I have never received the slightest interest from a man in the first twenty-six years of my life. And now I've received two offers in the same day. It's astounding."
"It's shocking, that's what it is." Golda's plump little mouth tightened in an unattractive sneer. "You are too old for such attention. Those awful men are just trying to use you, Garnet. They are simply hungry for a woman's companionship and there are no other women around. They are giving you false hope."
"Oh." Garnet's step faltered.
Wyatt watched the bright gleam in her eyes dim and the smile fade from her soft mouth. For a brief moment she had looked young and so beautiful, a glimpse of her real self beneath all the burdens and responsibilities she took on so seriously and so bravely.
Wyatt's throat tightened and he stepped forward to chastise the girl, but already Garnet was talking in her typical no-nonsense fashion.
"I'm sure you're right." Garnet's step was heavier than before. "I'm sure those men are poor, misguided souls lacking a woman's helpful influence. They are so lonely that even I look appealing."
As if it didn't matter, as if her feelings weren't hurt, Garnet grabbed up a scrap of his old shirt to check the oven. Wyatt watched, his heart strung taught as a rope, not sure if it would hold or break. Garnet bent from her tiny waist and lowered the oven's lid. He watched the spare fabric of her skirt tighten across her behind.
Too much trouble, too bossy, too opinionated for the likes of him. And far too fine, courageous, and loyal.
Wyatt told himself it didn't matter that there was another knock at the door, another man eager to ask "Miss Garnet" to do his laundry. But it did.
Chapter Eight
It wasn't fair, that's what it was. Golda stood up from the washtub set beneath a tall tree's shade and stretched her stiff, aching back. She'd been working most of the evening, ever since Garnet insisted she help wash the supper dishes. Her back ached from bending over the wash-tubs. Her arms hurt from scrubbing men's dirty shirts against the washboard. Her knees hurt from kneeling in the dirt. Her normally soft, smooth hands might never recover from the harsh lye soap.
Golda left Elmer's shirts in the washwater and strolled the short distance in the shade to the creek. Her wet hands, red and wrinkled, dripped as she walked, leaving tiny droplets of mud in the ever-present dust. At least, if they earned enough money doing this awful work, they wouldn't have to stay here with Mr. Tanner. Maybe she could even talk Garnet into moving into town, so she would be closer to Lance.
She sat down on a rather large boulder and stared down at the lazy little creek. Fallen leaves floated down-stream with the current, leaves from trees that were already changing colors.
Oh, how wonderful it was to have visited with Lance the other day, despite the circumstance. Sure, that frightening Mr. Tanner had watched and listened nearly the entire time, but oh, just to see Lance's dear face. How handsome he was! Already she loved his boyish kindness, those friendly warm
eyes and that charming smile.
Golda was so happy, she felt certain her heart might float up like one of those fluffy white clouds and set itself free in the sunset.
"I fear I'm a bit jealous," Lance had confessed in his tent while that nasty Mr. Tanner had stood just outside the open flap. "I used ta be the only man that knew you was here in town. I had you all to myself. But now everyone can see you, and see how downright beautiful ya are, and I fear you'll be smitten with a more dapper fella."
"Oh, no," she had been quick to assure him. She had swelled up with pride because Lance thought she was beautiful. Could a girl ask for anything more? "I'm not allowed to talk to any other men. Garnet has granted me permission to speak with you just this once."
"Yer sister's a bit . . . well, bossy, ain't she?" Lance had asked diplomatically.
"Oh," Golda had giggled; she couldn't help it. "She has been particularly unbearable lately. She spends entirely too much time with that Mr. Tanner."
Lance's eyes widened. "She ain't bein' neglectful to you, is she?"
Golda bit her lip. "She does intend to make me work like a slave."
"I've made up my mind, dearest," Lance said after great thought. "Wait for me outside Mr. Tanner's cabin in the evening."
"Oh, Lance." His name rolled off her tongue like the sweetest of candies. "I'll be waiting. But we mustn't let Garnet know."
Now, after several evenings had passed without one single sign of darling Lance, Golda felt sorely disappointed. She returned to her work, scrubbing diligently at the clothes that took a second washing to come clean. Then she heard the footsteps behind her and spun around expectantly, her heart in her throat.
It was only Garnet. "Did you remember to change the rinse water?"
"No. I've been too exhausted scrubbing these horrid shirts."
"Those horrid shirts are going to make us enough money to get home before snow flies," Garnet said in her superior way.