by Kit Morgan
“Certainly.” She nodded at her husband to hand it to him. “It’s so exciting, I can hardly…”
HONK! Clint jumped back as a goose popped its head out from underneath the woman’s cloak.
“Daniel, shame on you!” she scolded. “You scared this poor gentleman half to death.”
Clint could only stare. A goose?!
The man looked apologetic as he shoved the goose’s head back under his wife’s cloak. “Sorry, he’s harmless. Probably just wanted to know who we were talking to.”
Clint nodded. “I see.” Though he didn’t. This place was getting stranger by the minute. Then he glanced at the heading of the paper now in his hands:
NOELLE’S 1ST ANNUAL
TALENT SHOW
to be held FEBRUARY 12
in honor of President Lincoln’s birthday
BEGINNING 1:00 P.M.
THE GOLDEN NUGGET SALOON …
Clint took a step back. “Talent show?”
“Yes, isn’t it exciting?” the woman said as the goose tried to get another peek at him. “Daniel, what did I say?”
“It has a name?” Clint said absently.
“Of course he does,” she said.
“Come along, Molly,” her husband said. “We’d best be getting home if Daniel’s this restless.”
“I hope you’re in town long enough to attend,” she said. “Are you planning on settling here?”
Clint nodded, but for the life of him didn’t know why. He handed back the flyer. The rancher took it, nodded in parting and steered his wife and their pet toward a wagon.
Clint turned and tried to see if he could spot Miss Rathbone, but she and the other woman had disappeared. “Talent show,” he muttered. “A town talent show.” He suddenly had a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach. Had he made a mistake, a really big mistake? But he’d always been able to rely on his instincts. Had his attraction to Miss Rathbone and fretting over her situation addled him so much he’d ‘found’ a problem that wasn’t there?
He started down the street. One thing was for sure – if he was wrong, he had to do something about it. But what – change the report he hadn’t written yet? He hadn’t sent any letters to his superiors, so what was there to fix?
Miss Rathbone … think – had he given her any indication he thought she was a fallen woman? He might have given the preacher some. Good grief, at this point he wasn’t sure what he’d done or not done. And this talent show – what exactly was it? Maybe his assumption as to Noelle’s morality or lack of it was still well-founded. But if he was wrong …
… if he was wrong, then Miss Rathbone was exactly what his heart desired.
Wait a minute! When did his heart get involved? Oh yes – practically the first time he laid eyes on her. His head had told him one thing about her, his heart another. Maybe he’d been relying on the wrong instincts.
But even if his head was wrong, what difference would it make? He’d be leaving town soon. He couldn’t entertain thoughts of courting a woman and settling down. What would he do, work in the mine? No, that wasn’t for him. There was nothing here, no way to move about and do as he pleased. A wife, no matter how angelic or beautiful, would take that from him. He couldn’t do his work for Wells Fargo from a tiny speck in the wilds of Colorado.
Clint headed back to the Golden Nugget. He’d have to start over, ask more pointed questions, speak with Mayor Hardt and Rev. Hammond again, and find out the truth. Then he could make his notes, pack his things and leave – hopefully without making a further fool of himself.
“Do you think he’ll come?” Ophelia asked.
“Who?” Felicity asked.
“Mr. Jones – to the talent show?”
“Did you hand him a flyer?”
“No, I thought he’d see the sign in Cobb’s.”
“Ophey, you should have handed him a flyer.”
“I know, I know … I just froze.” Ophelia sat on the settee in Felicity’s rooms. They were supposed to be making a list of people already interested in performing, but she was, put mildly, distracted. “But do you think he’ll come?”
“Oh for Heaven’s sake, stop. Did it ever occur to you to slip a flyer under his door?”
Ophelia’s face brightened. “That’s a great idea!”
Felicity laughed. “Then do it now before you completely lose your senses. We have work to do.”
Ophelia got up, went to the table where a few flyers lay and snatched one. “I’ll be but a moment.” She went out the door and hurried down the hall. The act made her feel excited, like she was carrying out some sort of mission. She was, of course – a mission to see Mr. Jones again, even if it was only sitting in the audience at the talent show. She folded the flyer, bent down, slipped it under the door –
– and the door immediately opened. “What’s this?” Mr. Jones asked, stepping into the hall.
Ophelia smiled as her cheeks grew hot. “Mr. Jones!”
He looked around. “I hope so.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry, I should have knocked.”
“That’s what one usually does. I suppose you didn’t think I was in.”
“You suppose correctly,” she said with a nervous smile.
He watched her a moment, as if thinking of what to say. Had she disturbed him? “A talent show?” he mused.
“Yes. Day after tomorrow. Will you come?” She felt bold saying it, but it was high time she found a little boldness.
“And you’ve invited the locals to participate?”
She nodded, smile still in place. “Are you thinking of performing?”
“That depends on what one has to perform to win one hundred dollars in gold.” He took a step closer, looking into her eyes.
Ophelia almost couldn’t breathe. “Anything you want.”
“Anything?”
She swallowed hard and nodded. He was so close she could feel his body heat.
“What will you be performing? How will you entertain the men?”
“Men?” she said hoarsely. Her knees felt weak.
“Townspeople, I should say.” He took a step back. “You’re performing for the town, not just the miners?”
She shook herself in an attempt to break the intoxicating hold he had on her. “Miners?”
He took another step back. “And what about your, uh, co-worker?”
“Co-worker?”
“Felice … er, Felicity?”
“Oh! Yes, I suppose she is a co-worker. It’s why I’m here after all, to work. Speaking of which, I’d best be going. She’s waiting.”
He sighed and closed his eyes a moment. “Miss Rathbone …”
“Yes?”
He opened his eyes and gazed at her to the point her knees started wobbling again. “Don’t let me keep you.”
Ophelia sensed more than heard the regret in his voice. “Is something wrong?”
He smiled, seemingly involuntarily. “Perhaps. But it’s nothing you need worry about. Goodbye.” He closed the door.
Only after she heard the decisive click as it shut did Ophelia realize she hadn’t replied. “Goodbye?” she whispered. Oh no – he wasn’t leaving town, was he? If he did, she’d never see him again. No, no, no … she hurried back to the Hammonds’. “Felicity!”
“What?” Felicity asked.
Their door was open, and Ophelia realized Felicity probably heard her entire conversation with Clint Jones. Good. “How do I … I mean …?”
“What?” Felicity said, concerned.
Ophelia took a deep breath. “How do I attract a man?!”
Chapter Ten
He thinks what?” Felicity asked as she crawled into bed.
Chase glanced up from his book and smiled. “That I am the epitome of evil and debauchery.”
She looked at him a moment before laughing. “Whaaaaat?”
He shrugged. “I can see how it could happen. You’d think he’d have asked folks direct questions instead of nosing around the way he did. But, I supp
ose his job is to get in, assess and get out.”
“Too bad. Poor Ophelia.”
He sighed. “Don’t tell me …”
“She’s fallen for him, Chase, and fallen hard. She asked me today how she could be more attractive to a man.”
“The one man in town she can’t have is the one she’s set her cap for. And for Heaven’s sake, if the woman was any more attractive I’d have to carry two guns instead of one.”
She ignored his joke. “What do you mean, can’t have? Why not?”
He gave her a significant look. “I told you – he gets in, assesses and gets out.”
“He might stay for love.”
“Love? In two days? No, make that one – if you add all the times they’ve conversed in the hall or on the stairs, you might have one.”
“The point is, if he stayed on a few more days, who knows what could happen?”
He set down the book and crossed his arms. “Give me one good reason why he would stay. Especially given his assumptions about all of us.”
She smiled mischievously. “Maybe because of the assumptions?”
Chase sighed. “No. Absolutely not. It’s not fair to me to let him go on thinking that I’m the spawn of Lucifer, and it’s not fair to him either. I should have told him today, but I couldn’t find the man.”
“He’s in his room now.”
“It’s too late for a social call. I’ll speak with him first thing in the morning and set things to rights.”
“But what if he continued to think …?”
“Then he’d want to leave sooner rather than linger. Wouldn’t you?”
Felicity sighed, shrugged and blew out the lantern.
“I’m not done with my book, dear,” Chase said in the dark. “And I imagine you’re not ready to drop this, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
They sat in the silent dark for a few moments before Chase said. “It’s not to anyone’s advantage for him to keep thinking he’s stumbled into a den of thieves and malefactors.”
“Okay, maybe not. Let’s just find a way to keep him here a few more days. If he’s here to survey the town as a potential spot for business, then let him survey it – properly this time. And … hmmm. Maybe let Ophelia be the one to do it.”
Chase got out of bed, struck a match and relit the lantern. “Fine,” he grumbled.
Felicity made a face and stuck out her tongue.
Chase sighed once more, blew out the lantern again, and crawled under the covers – to Felicity’s giggles of delight.
“You wanted a word with me?” Clint said as he approached Hammond’s table. He noticed the man always sat in the same chair at the same table whenever he was in the saloon. But after his explorations yesterday, he noticed there wasn’t a church anywhere to be seen. But then, Miss Rathbone had said the other day that a church would soon be built.
“Please.” The preacher waved at a chair. “Sit down. Coffee?”
Clint pulled out a chair and sat. “Thank you.” He watched the preacher motion to Seamus the barkeep. Within moments a steaming cup of coffee was in front of him.
“So, are you attending services this morning?” Hammond asked.
“Services?” Clint said in surprise.
“It is Sunday.”
Yes, hadn’t Miss Rathbone mentioned church services during one of their conversations? “Where do you hold them?”
“Right here.”
Clint blinked. “In the saloon?”
“It’s the biggest room in town at present. In fact, once you finish your coffee, you can help Seamus and I move the tables and chairs and set up the sanctuary.”
Clint looked around. Several miners had already started an early-morning poker game, while several others were milling around near the bar. “Er, what time is the service?”
“Nine o’clock. By then more of the men will be up and about.” He glanced at their surroundings. “You’d be surprised at the turnout.”
Clint felt embarrassment creep into his cheeks.
“Those men at the bar are always the first ones here,” the preacher continued.
Clint glanced over his shoulder and back. “You’ve been holding church services in here all this time?”
“Since I arrived over two years ago. My wife and I live upstairs, you know.”
Clint swallowed hard. “Wife?”
“Felicity’s her name. Finest woman in the world. Though I’m biased.”
Clint’s eyes shut. “And Miss Rathbone is your wife’s friend?”
“Yes, sir. Came here for a fresh start. One of the nicest women I’ve ever met – young, pretty, innocent …”
Clint felt himself begin to sweat.
“She came from Denver to help Felicity and her friends start a mission for women right here in Noelle. And to further the suffragette cause – which I agree with, lest you think we’d be at loggerheads over it.”
Clint gulped before he could catch himself. “So … these women want to run the whores out of town?”
“No, no, no – that story in the paper got it all wrong. There are a couple of busybodies who want to do that, but Felicity and Ophelia and their group, they want to help the whores start new lives. Mrs. Kinnison brought us a dozen mail-order brides from Denver around Christmastime, Felicity among them – all women seeking a new beginning, just like Ophelia Rathbone’s doing. And I’ll have you know I married each one of those women to fine upstanding men.”
Clint shook his head. He didn’t dare open his mouth, not with his foot stuck in it.
Chase Hammond smiled. “Including Mayor Hardt and his wife Penny.”
And there it was – the final blow. The preacher knew. Knew Clint had been wrong about Noelle and its people all along. And now he was either forgiving him for his assumptions or verbally roasting him over a spit – he couldn’t tell which.
“Interesting story about the new Mrs. Hardt. You stick around long enough and you’ll hear the tale, but I’d like to share it with you first. It’s very uplifting.”
Clint took a long sip of his coffee to keep him from sinking any lower. Not that he didn’t deserve to after how he’d judged the man sitting across the table from him. He felt like a grand prize heel.
“You know that for years Penny Hardt believed that she brought everyone around her bad luck?”
“What?” Clint sputtered, choking on his coffee.
“You all right?” Rev. Hammond asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Fine … cough … go on.”
“As I was saying, Penny assumed that just because things happened to folks around her, she was the cause. Because she believed it, other folks began to, and, well, that was that. She was known as Bad Luck Penny.”
“That’s preposterous. She shouldn’t assume that just because …” He stopped and stared at the preacher. “Oh. I think I see your point.”
Reverend Hammond’s smile was heartfelt. “Son, there’s no shame in making assumptions, only in insisting on the false ones. Left unchecked, lies can cause a heap of trouble, even – especially – the lies we tell ourselves. I know you wouldn’t want that. Especially not when it comes to Ophelia.”
Clint’s chest tightened at the mention of her name. “The mayor told you, didn’t he?”
The preacher nodded. “You left his office before he had time to explain. He thought you’d come back or someone would tell you …”
“I never asked. I just …” He nodded to himself. “Assumed. More the fool I.”
The preacher sat back in his chair. “No lasting harm done, son. We’ll just keep this between you, me and the mayor. Oh, and Sheriff Draven.”
Clint’s eyes widened momentarily. “Him too? Why didn’t he say anything?”
“Because our dear sheriff has a very strange sense of humor. I wouldn’t trade him for the finest detective in New York, but he does have that Achilles heel …”
Clint stared at him for a second, then chuckled. Before he knew it, he was laughing – so
hard that some of the miners began to make their way to the preacher’s table.
Chase held up a hand, signaling everything was all right, then picked up his coffee cup. “Son, Mayor Hardt shared with me who you are and why you’re here. You’ve suffered some misconceptions about this town, but I think you’re over them now. So now I’d like to show you what Noelle is really like.”
Clint stifled his guffaws as best he could. “That’s … that’s mighty good of you.” He took a deep breath. “And thanks for not running me out of town for being such an idiot.”
“Like I said, no lasting harm done. At least not to me, but I can take it. Someone like Miss Rathbone, on the other hand …”
He stiffened. “I meant no ill will towards her, even when I thought she was … well, you know. I was under the impression you’d forced her into it anyway.”
Now it was Chase’s turn to choke on his coffee. “Oh my … well, again, best keep that between us. But I think she ought to show you the town. The two of you can see Noelle for what it really is – a growing community striving toward something special. She’s new here, just like you. She can tell you about the women’s mission, share our vision for this place. Most of us are striving for the same thing.”
Clint set his cup on the table. “How would you feel about Wells Fargo setting up a bank here?”
“That would be nice someday. If it comes to pass then so be it. I’m more interested in you having your conscience clear, though.”
Clint smiled. “I think you’ve done a good job of clearing it yourself.”
Chase grinned. “Maybe so, but there’s nothing like seeing things in a new light to paint your employers a proper perspective of Noelle.”
“True,” he agreed. “Very well, Miss Rathbone may show me the real Noelle.”
The reverend’s grin broadened. “Good. I’ll make the arrangements. Now, mind lending a hand? It’s almost time for church.”
Clint sat in a chair in the third row, two seats directly behind Miss Rathbone. He and several miners had helped the reverend create the makeshift sanctuary, shoving tables against walls and forming five rows of chairs, six on each side of a center aisle. A couple of men hauled a small platform into the saloon from out back to serve as a pulpit. He’d seen the platform leaning against the outer wall near the water pump, but had paid it no mind.