by Judith Stacy
Jared had urged Mattie to make her presentation first, thereby knocking the competition out of the running right away. But Mattie had wanted to give her proposal after the Silver Bell, sure her ideas would look even better in comparison.
And she’d made the right decision, Jared thought, as the Everettes went through the list of foods they intended to serve. Admittedly, the meal sounded impressive, and the town council was familiar with the quality of their food, since they ate there so often. But the Everettes planned nothing compared to what the Cottonwood had in mind.
A few minutes later, when Mattie came into the parlor, Jared realized his palms were sweating. This afternoon when he’d gone by her restaurant, she and her whole staff had been in a flurry of activity, getting everything ready. But right now, Mattie seemed poised and confident.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” She smiled and greeted each of them by name, and thanked them for allowing her the chance to make a proposal. “I think you’re going to like what the Cottonwood Café has to offer.”
It was all Jared could do not to smile proudly as Billy and Meg and Molly Spencer brought in plates of food from the kitchen and served the councilmen. When Mattie brought Jared a plate, he couldn’t help giving her a secretive wink.
The councilmen looked skeptical at first, but the food was too good not to eat, especially after Mrs. Rayburn’s meal. Before long, the councilmen were asking for seconds, and Mattie was explaining the details of her plan, including how she planned to decorate the Cottonwood, and seat the distinguished visitors and town officials.
“Of course, Molly and Meg will serve,” Mattie explained, speaking in Gil Spencer’s direction. “Those investors should see the finest Stanford has to offer. All in all, I see the Cottonwood as the perfect restaurant to host the supper.”
“Well, I don’t know,” Mr. Burrows said around a mouthful of potatoes, “we’ll have to think this over.”
“Did I mention I brought cake tonight?” Mattie asked. “And pie?”
When the men had finished off all the coffee and desserts, Mayor Rayburn thanked her for her presentation.
“We have to hear from the other restaurants in town, and then we can decide,” he said. The other councilmen nodded in agreement. “Send them in here.”
Billy stuck his head in from the adjoining dining room. “Uh, sorry, Mayor. Everybody else went home.”
“Well, I guess that’s it then,” the mayor said. “All in favor of the Cottonwood Café hosting the supper say ‘aye.”’
A chorus of aye’s rose from the men, along with an indiscreet belch.
“Nay?” the mayor asked. When no one spoke, Mayor Rayburn nodded. “The Cottonwood it shall be.”
While the councilmen finished up some of the town’s business, Jared slipped into the kitchen. Mattie’s face lit up like a July sunrise when she saw him.
“We did it!” She flung her arms around his neck, bouncing up and down, and planted a big kiss on his cheek.
“Good job, Mattie,” he said, resisting the urge to squeeze her too tightly. He waved his hand to Billy and the Spencer girls. “Good job, all of you.”
Mattie turned around. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you!”
Billy smiled bashfully. “We’ll get all this stuff loaded up and back to the restaurant. Don’t you give it a thought, Miss Mattie.”
She turned back to Jared and took both of his hands, a mist of tears in her eyes. “I guess it was worth it, selling Mama’s brooch.”
Jared nodded, wishing to hell she’d let him give her the money to pay her debts. Wishing that he’d gotten the brooch back from Mrs. Pomeroy. Wishing he could solve every problem Mattie had for the rest of their lives.
She sniffed and blinked away her tears. “But I get to keep the Cottonwood. That’s what’s important.”
“You did fine, Mattie. Just fine.” Jared wrapped his arms around her and she leaned against his chest. “I’m proud of you. The hard part is over. All you have to do now is put on the supper.”
No, that wasn’t quite right, Mattie thought, her jubilation fading. All she had to do now was find a way to pay for the supper.
It looked like business as usual at the Cottonwood Café when Jared walked through the kitchen door and found Mrs. Nance leaving for the night and Mattie busy at the worktable.
Except that Mattie’s smile seemed wider, her eyes brighter as she looked up, making his heart tumble. She was one happy woman—not surprisingly, after being awarded the investors’ supper at the council meeting last night. And that made Jared happy, too.
“Good evening, Sheriff,” she called, then nodded pleasantly to the prisoner who followed him inside. This one was a wiry, weathered fellow, who, like most of the other prisoners Jared brought to do her dishes, looked as if he’d seen better days.
“See you tomorrow.” Mrs. Nance nodded pleasantly to everyone, then left.
“Who’s he?” Mattie asked quietly, after Jared got the prisoner situated at the washtubs and took the stool beside her.
The land around Stanford was rich with silver, a fortune waiting for any man smart enough and lucky enough to find it. Few were. Those whose claim hadn’t panned out, or whose strike had played out, found their way to Stanford. Some were looking for work, some for a handout. Some were looking for trouble.
“Says his name is Smith,” Jared told her.
“What did he do to get arrested?”
“Disorderly conduct.”
“Another disorderly conduct?” Mattie asked. “Good gracious, Jared, I’ve never seen most of the prisoners you bring in here. Are they from around here? People passing through? Who are they?”
Jared cleared his throat. “No need to look at this too closely.”
She glanced up at him, concerned. “Mayor Rayburn isn’t upset with you for making so many arrests, is he?”
“He hasn’t said anything so far. Of course, with that fine food you’re bringing to the jail, I’m liable to have men coming in from the next county to commit crimes here in Stanford.”
“No complaints from the prisoners about having to wash dishes for your community assistance program?”
“Not a one.” Jared laid a mail order catalog on the worktable in front of them. “Take a look at this, will you, Mattie? I could use your help.”
That sweet little smile of hers turned to a frown. “You promised you wouldn’t buy me anything else. You gave me your word.”
“I wasn’t going to buy anything for you.”
“Oh.”
“It’s for the baby.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Jared, we agreed—”
“You never said anything about not wanting me to buy for the baby, now did you?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Okay, then, give me a hand. Mrs. Dixon let me borrow this catalog of hers, and truth is, I’ve never seen one of these before.” Jared held it up, pointing to the five-story building on the cover. “See? Bloomingdale Brothers Fashions, Dry Goods and House-wares. All the way from New York City.”
Mattie leaned closer. “Oh, my…”
“Mrs. Dixon says they sell baby things,” Jared said, flipping through the pages. “What I want—Holy smoke! There’s women in their underwear in here!” Jared pulled the catalog closer, eyeing the pages. “Damn…where was this when I was a kid?”
“Give me that.” Mattie pulled the catalog from his hands and primly turned the page. “Honestly, carrying on as if you never…”
“Never what?”
Mattie blushed. “Never…you know. I mean, there’s a parlor house just outside town, and—”
“For your information, I haven’t you knowed with any woman since you know when.”
She looked up at him, surprised, and wagged her finger back and forth between them. “Since you and I—?”
“That’s right.”
Mattie frowned. “But I thought men always wanted to…you know.”
“I never said I didn’t want to. I’m jus
t particular about who I’m with,” he grumbled. “Thanks to you.”
Mattie gazed up at him, looking both skeptical and pleased. “Really?”
“Really.” Jared pulled the catalog away from her, anxious to put this topic of conversation behind them. His condition was difficult enough to endure without talking about it—to Mattie of all people.
“I want everything for the baby in pink,” he told her, leafing through the catalog pages.
“Pink? All pink?” Mattie asked. She shook her head. “Your son is going to look mighty foolish swaddled in anything but blue.”
“It’ll be a girl,” Jared told her. “I want pink.”
“You’re wasting your money. It’s going to be a boy.”
Jared grinned. “Maybe we’ll get one of each?”
“Heavens, Jared, twins?” Mattie touched her hand to her throat. “I can’t imagine.”
“It’s not so hard. I’ve got brothers who are twins. Two sets of twin cousins, too. They came to live with us after their folks died.”
“My gracious, how did your parents manage?”
“That wasn’t the half of it. There were twelve of us kids altogether, counting my cousins and those my folks took in. Gathering strays, my pa used to call it. Any kid who needed a home found one at our house.”
Mattie sighed wistfully. “I didn’t have any brothers or sisters, but I used to wonder what it would be like.”
“Suited me fine.” Jared smiled at the memory. “There was always somebody to go fishing with, somebody to get into mischief with, somebody to back you up in a fight.”
“But your parents? How did they manage all those children?”
“They had a way of making all of us feel important.” Jared shrugged. “Of course, there were times when one of them would be at their wit’s end with us, but then the other one would jump in and take up the slack. My folks were good about looking out for each other. Seemed to me to be the point of them being together.”
“Do you see your folks very often?” Mattie asked.
“I haven’t been home in…a long time,” Jared told her, pleased that thoughts of his home didn’t upset him like they used to. He smiled down at her. “So how about helping me pick out some baby clothes?”
They pored over the pages of the catalog together, looking at the drawings, reading the descriptions. Jared pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and started a list. Stewart’s nursery pins for four cents per dozen. Infant bibs for fifty-nine cents each. A flannel infant wrapper trimmed with lace and satin ribbon, priced at $2.25.
“How about one of these?” Jared asked, turning the page. “‘Infants’ Outfit C,’ it says here. ‘Fifty-one pieces. Each set includes all the necessary articles, and nothing is forgotten…proven very popular.’ What do you think?”
Mattie leaned closer. “My goodness, Jared, it costs over fifty dollars.”
He pointed to the list of infant items included in the package. “Will the baby need all these things?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Then I’ll get it.” Jared added it to his list. He searched through more pages. “Here. This is what I need.”
“A baby carriage?”
He studied the drawings on the pages and read the descriptions, then pointed to one. “‘Fine rattan carriage, lined in silk plush, extra quality, satin parasol with lace edge. This is one of the finest rattan bodies that can be had.’ Do you like it?”
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “But only a few women in Stanford have baby carriages, and certainly not one as fine as this. I’m not sure the baby will need it.”
“Her mama will,” Jared said, adding the carriage to his list. “If you’re dead set on keeping the Cottonwood, this will make it easier to get you back and forth every day. Now, let’s see. What else?”
“Jared, you’ve really bought plenty for the baby already.”
“Just one more thing. Okay, here we go.” He turned the catalog toward her. “One of these dolls.”
She rolled her eyes. “A doll? It will be years before she can play with a doll.”
“I know, but I want to give her a present the day she’s born.”
“Jared—” she touched his arm “—that’s so sweet.”
“I could buy you a present for that day, too,” he said, adding to his list, “if you weren’t so confounded hardheaded.”
“Sheriff McQuaid?” the prisoner called. “I’ve finished the dishes, sir.”
Jared scrutinized the sideboard, made sure the dishes were stacked in the cupboard and that there was no water on the floor.
“Okay, Smith, you’re released from custody.”
The man pulled off his battered hat and cast an apologetic look in Mattie’s direction. “Well, sir, if’n I could have a word with you?”
When Jared walked over, Smith twisted his hat in his hands. “Well, Sheriff, I don’t think I ought to be released just yet.”
“Why’s that?”
“Truth is, I feel another spell of disorderliness coming on.”
More likely, night was coming on and the man had no place to sleep. Jared nodded. “Okay, get on back over to the jail.”
“Yes, sir.” Smith crammed his hat on his head and went out the back door just as Billy came up the steps.
“Sheriff?” he called. “I think you ought to get over to your office. There’s a whole gang of men gathered out front and they’re pretty riled up. They want to talk to you. Right now.”
Chapter Seventeen
“It ain’t right, Sheriff.”
“And it ain’t fair, neither.”
A chorus of agreement rose from the men gathered outside the sheriff’s office. Jared rested his thumbs on his gun belt eyeing this group of Stanford business owners in the growing darkness. Tom Keaton from the feed store, Rafe from the saloon, Marvin Ford who owned the Stanford Hotel, and of course, the sniveling Hayden Langston from the mercantile were in front, backed by about a half-dozen other men.
“Now, it ain’t that we don’t think it’s a good idea,” Tom said, “this community assistance program of yours.”
“Yeah,” Hayden agreed. “Free help from prisoners makes a lot of sense.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Jared demanded.
“Well, ain’t nobody getting free help but the Cottonwood Café,” Rafe said. “And that ain’t right.”
Another round of grumbled agreement rose from the men.
“We ought to all be getting free help,” Hayden declared.
“Yeah, all of us,” Marvin agreed.
Disgust roiled through Jared as he stared down at this group of able-bodied men, the owners of prosperous businesses. He didn’t have that many prisoners, to start with—certainly not enough to accommodate them all. And the prisoners he did have, he wanted to use at Mattie’s place so she wouldn’t have to stand on her feet so long doing dishes.
Jared’s first reaction was to call these men every name he could think of, tell them exactly what he thought of their whining and complaining, and run them off. Instead, he decided to handle it differently.
“Okay, boys, you’ve got a point,” Jared said. “Fair is fair.”
Jared went into his office, got a sheet of paper and the hammer and nails he used to tack up Wanted posters, and went outside again. He nailed the paper to the wall beside the door.
“Any of you men who can’t manage your business and want me to send help to you instead of giving it to a pregnant widow, sign your name here.” Jared gave the group a brisk nod, went inside his office and closed the door.
The next morning when he came outside, the first thing he did was look at the paper. Not one signature was scrawled there.
He smiled to himself, glad that little bit of bad news was behind him, anxious to get down to the Cottonwood for breakfast and to see Mattie. But something else needed his attention and he wanted to get it handled early.
Gray clouds hung low on the western horizon. Folks hurried along the boardwalk, unco
ncerned, it seemed, that a storm might be heading their way.
The Lady Luck Saloon was open for business when Jared arrived, though only two men sat at a table, playing cards. Rafe Duncan, a faded white apron tied around him, stood behind the bar polishing glasses.
“Drinking this early in the day, Sheriff?” Rafe joked. “Must be a lot of crime in Stanford.”
Jared smiled and leaned against the bar. “No, but I could sure use a cup of coffee, if you’ve got one.”
“Sure thing.” Rafe disappeared into the rear of the saloon and brought out a mug of steaming coffee. “So what brings you over here?”
“Got a problem,” he said, sipping from the mug. “Mrs. Pomeroy and her Ladies for the Betterment of Stanford Committee.”
Rafe pulled on his long mustache and shook his head. “I figured you’d be over here sooner or later. Those ladies were always giving Sheriff Hickert hell about something. What do they want me to do this time?”
“Just about everything you can imagine, and then some.”
“The way I look at it, Sheriff, nothing short of me closing down my place will make Mrs. Pomeroy happy. But I can’t do that. It’s my livelihood. My customers need a place to go where they can blow off steam, relax a little, have a drink. And they don’t cause that much trouble.”
“I agree with you, Rafe,” Jared said. “Your saloon is a lot quieter than most.”
“Listen, I’m willing to do everything I can to make Stanford a good place to live. I’m already opening later on Sundays, and I don’t have no working girls in here, just to accommodate Mrs. Pomeroy and her committee. But I’ve got a business to run. I can’t keep jumping through hoops for those ladies and still make a living,” Rafe said.
Jared nodded. Everything the barkeep said made sense. Jared had made it a point to go by the Lady Luck several times a day since arriving in Stanford, to keep an eye on things, and so far, the problems were more a nuisance than real trouble.
“I appreciate that Mrs. Pomeroy is on your back, Sheriff,” Rafe said. “I’ll do what I can to keep things quiet.”
“Thanks, Rafe.”
Jared dropped coins on the bar and left, wondering if that would be enough to pacify Mrs. Pomeroy and get her to sell him Mattie’s brooch.