Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5)

by Caroline Fyffe

  “That’s uncalled for! Dichelle is working for the saloon. Nothing more.”

  “When we had our discussion about you bringing in more working girls to Logan Meadows, you specifically said nothing had been decided. And then four days later, your secret weapon arrived. Where I come from, that’s called a lie.”

  Anger rolled in his gut. Darn her hoity-toityness to hell and back. She was the most aggravating women he’d ever met. He’d not clear up the misunderstanding. He’d let her stew. She deserved it.

  Tabitha stood and shook out her dress. “It’s been nice speaking with you. Now, I really must get back.”

  He stood, then went to the door and opened it for Tabitha. “Good afternoon,” he said to her retreating back as he fastened on his hat. Frustrated, he shook his head. That woman was more trouble than she was worth.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  One hour later, as Tabitha was taking the tea infuser out of her teacup, she noticed movement outside her window. Miss Bastianelli stood out by the bridge behind a painting easel, the paintbrush in her hand making little swishing movements across her canvas. She’d donned a beautiful navy wool hat and coat, both trimmed in some sort of white fur.

  She’s an artist as well!

  It made sense. Gifted people usually had more than one talent.

  Feeling the coolness of the shop, Tabitha added several logs to her woodstove and draped her shawl over her shoulders, all the while sipping the hot cup of orange tea and trying not to look at the beautiful young woman outside, painting the stream and bridge. Tabitha straightened one shelf, moved around a display, then went to fetch her broom. Returning, she leaned the tool against the wall and picked up her cup, watching Miss Bastianelli. The girl looked up at the sky at the tiny snowflakes that had begun to fall.

  A little snow this time of year wasn’t unheard of.

  Tabitha took another sip. The warmth of her cup felt good in her hands.

  Miss Bastianelli shivered visibly, then glanced down the street.

  It must be lonely in a new town where all the women were envious of your beauty. Not one person had stopped to talk. Was she cold? Moved by compassion, Tabitha went for her coat, slipped it on, and hurried out to find the woman packing up her things. The Italian singer appeared a little leery as Tabitha approached.

  “You must come inside and warm up, Miss Bastianelli. Have a cup of tea with me.” She pointed to her shop, but the woman didn’t look convinced. “I get lonely sometimes,” Tabitha added.

  At her words, a smile appeared on Miss Bastianelli’s face. “Sì, I understand. A cup of tea and conversation sounds delightful. The temperature has dropped even since setting up my paints. But only if you will call me Dichelle.”

  Tabitha smiled and nodded. She lifted Dichelle’s bag while the saloon girl took her painting off the easel, then lifted that as well. “I’m glad your shop is close,” she said, hurrying across the bridge and into the bookstore. “Oh, that warmth feels good.”

  “It does,” Tabitha agreed. “I’ve added more wood to the stove so it won’t be long and it’ll be warmer still. The water is hot, so this will only take a moment.” They both slipped out of their coats, hanging them on pegs by the door.

  In silence, Tabitha fixed a second cup and refreshed her own. Carrying them into the main room, she found Dichelle looking down a row of books. Tabitha handed her the beverage and smiled, taking a sip of her own.

  Dichelle took a sip. “Oh, it’s good. Grazie.”

  Feeling a little contrite about judging her so harshly before, Tabitha went over to the painting leaning by the door. The stream, the bridge, and her shop in the background. She sucked in a breath. “It’s lovely. You’re very talented.” Shady Creek and the bridge were finished, or so Tabitha thought, but her shop was just in the beginning of development. Watercolor blues washed over the canvas, mixed with browns and tan.

  “Oh, I am just learning. But it helps to pass the time when I’m away.”

  “Away? Where are you from?”

  The young woman’s smile faded. “Over the last mountain.”

  “I see.” She doesn’t want me prying. I can’t blame her. I don’t like Aunt Roberta’s snooping into my life either. Tabitha took a sip and gazed out the window.

  Dichelle gazed at the snowflakes that had grown in size. “An early snow, sì?”

  Across the street, and several doors down, Mr. Harrell pulled his display table of sale items inside the haberdashery. Sheriff Preston ducked inside after him.

  “It is, from what I’ve heard. I’m new to town myself. I arrived in Logan Meadows last November.”

  Dichelle turned to her with vivid blue eyes. “Did you know Hunter from before?”

  Well, they knew so little about each other, the woman was most likely searching for something to speak about. She didn’t blame her. “No. We met when he came to town. Why do you ask?”

  She lifted a shoulder, a small smile pulling her lips.

  Curiosity filled her. “Dichelle?”

  The singer turned back to the window, the empty street outside looking more and more like a Christmas scene.

  “The way he looks at you when you’re not watching. He was protective of your reading night on Tuesday and wouldn’t let Mr. Martin schedule my performance then, so it would compete.” She turned and gazed into Tabitha’s face, a knowing smile on her lips. “Little things like that. I don’t know . . . I just thought the two of you must be very good friends . . .”

  A warm goodness seeped into Tabitha’s heart. Hunter had looked out for her?

  “You like him. At least a little.”

  Tabitha didn’t know how to respond. Her feelings were all mixed up. She motioned to the chintz chair by the window. “Shall we sit? I have some throws we can put on our laps.”

  Dichelle’s eyes twinkled. “Yes, let’s. I have some things I’d like to share.”

  Tabitha retrieved her desk chair and set it on the other side of the small table as Dichelle made herself comfortable, already unfolding a small knitted blanket. Tabitha hurried upstairs for the small blanket she kept on her bedroom chair.

  Returning, Tabitha got comfortable and picked up her cup.

  “First, I’d like to clear up a common mistake that I run into when I come to a new town. I am not a lady of the night, saloon girl, prostitute. Because I sing in taverns and bars sometimes, I’m mistaken for such. I’m a professional singer and actress. I aim to perform in New York someday.”

  Tabitha blinked, realizing her mistake. She’d assumed, and Hunter hadn’t corrected. He hadn’t lied to her at all. Shame filled her chest.

  “At one time, I had hoped Hunter would develop feelings for me,” Dichelle went on proudly. “I tried hard to get his attention. I wasn’t worried about the age difference. As well as being devilishly handsome, he was kind, and looked out for me when other men had other ideas. I think the world of him. And for a while, I was in love with him. We are now just friends.”

  Tabitha lifted her teacup to her lips, trying not to let it shake. Dichelle’s admission cut her to the quick. Why the woman would be so candid with her, Tabitha didn’t know.

  “You two seem like very different people,” Tabitha began, not quite sure what she wanted to ask. “He’s cut from a different cloth than you, rougher. A wagon-train master. You’re refined, and cultured.” Shocked at herself, she realized that she sounded as small-minded as Aunt Roberta.

  There was no judgment in Dichelle’s eyes. “Is that what you think of him?”

  Tabitha’s moment of truth. It felt good to finally acknowledge her feelings. “No. But it’s the opinion of my aunt, who lives here in Logan Meadows. She’s very vocally set her will against us.”

  Dichelle nodded as if she understood completely. “Has Hunter shared with you the time he delivered a baby?”

  Tabitha’s hands jerked, rattling her cup and saucer. She shook her head.

  “He’s a good man, no matter the cloth from which he’s been cut. The wagon tr
ain he and Thorp Wade were guiding was almost to Oregon when they reached a chasm that had opened up in the trail. Each wagon had to be unloaded, then lowered down a small cliff, and then reloaded. It was an ordeal that lasted several days. Hunter was sent on ahead with the wagons that had already been lowered, to a meadow where they would camp and wait for the others. A woman went into labor while her husband and the rest of the men toiled back at the cliff. She was frightened. Hunter was young himself, maybe twenty. Before they could send a runner back for her man, she delivered into Hunter’s hands. He never flinched from what he needed to do.”

  Dichelle’s solemn gaze met Tabitha’s over the rim of her cup.

  “Another time, he stayed behind to help a new widow plow and plant her fields after they’d learned her husband had been killed by a cougar and she was all alone. Hunter has a big heart. He’s loyal to a fault. If you look beneath his rough exterior, Hunter is pure gold. A rare find. If you have feelings for him, I’d not let him slip away. In my mind, there isn’t a woman alive good enough for him.”

  As if she realized her comment was a judgment on Tabitha herself, Dichelle moved her gaze outside. She laughed and pointed to Markus and Nate, who twirled in the deserted street with outstretched arms, their heads tipped back as they caught snowflakes on their tongues. Neither boy wore a coat or hat.

  “Oh, my,” Tabitha said, barely seeing them for all the sentiments about Hunter warming her heart. How he’d reached out to her today in the bank, and her chilly response. “I wonder if Hannah and Susanna know.”

  Dichelle winked. “Boys will be boys, sì?”

  “Yes, you’re absolutely correct.”

  Finished with her tea, Miss Bastianelli stood. “I should be going.” She went to her coat and put it on. “Thank you so much for your kindness,” she said, slipping the hat over her head and pulling it down over her ears. “You’ve touched me deeply. If you’d like to hear more about Hunter’s chivalry, let me know. I have many, many more stories I could share. But, I’d rather you hear them from him.”

  Before opening the door, Dichelle leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to each of Tabitha’s cheeks. “Arrivederci.”

  Tabitha gently fastened the door tight as she watched the young woman walk away with her things. She was wise for someone so young, and Tabitha would do well to heed her words.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Hunter surveyed the gussied up Bright Nugget, feeling a rush of satisfaction for a job well done. He and Kendall had cleaned the place to its utmost. Thank goodness they’d so recently swapped out the floor shavings, because now the place smelled better than most businesses on Main Street. They’d hung large blankets across both front windows so men couldn’t look in, as well as over the staircase so the ladies couldn’t see the doors of the upstairs rooms. No use making them uncomfortable. They’d done the same with the balcony that overlooked the downstairs, and rehearsed their explanation as wanting to give Dichelle a private place to make her entrance. All the whiskey bottles had been placed in the storeroom, spittoons removed, pumpkins and old cornhusks added for decorations.

  They were ready.

  He glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes until they’d open the doors and start seating. A small group of women waited on the boardwalk outside, their chatter and laughter audible. Tabitha was not among them. He tried not to let her absence bother him. Since she’d left him standing in the bank, the kiss that was meant to free him from her spell had intensified in his memory. It was all he could think about.

  In a few swift strides, he crossed the room and went to the stove in the back to make sure at least two of the seven borrowed coffeepots were brewing.

  Philomena looked up at his approach. She’d dressed in a high-necked white blouse he’d never seen before, and a demure black skirt. There wasn’t an inch of skin exposed that wasn’t supposed to be.

  He smiled. “You look nice. Are those your clothes?”

  She returned his smile, appearing a little self-conscious. “I borrowed them from Daisy.”

  He didn’t know much about Daisy, but he was glad Philomena had a friend to turn to. “Everything set?”

  “They are on my end,” she replied. Two trays of mugs were set on a table she’d pulled close to the stove, as well as several platters of cookies. “We owe Maude for the baking, when you get a chance.”

  “I’ll settle up tomorrow. Wait until most of the women are seated before you ask any if they’d care for a beverage.” He chuckled. “I doubt any will belly up to the bar. Kendall will be back here helping you.”

  She nodded. “Stop worrying, Hunter. I know how to pour a coffeepot and carry a tray.”

  She was right. He needed to relax.

  Kendall banged through the back door almost mowing Hunter over, the large trash barrel that belonged behind the bar in his arms. His hair hung down in his sweaty face.

  “You need to clean up, Kendall!” Hunter said, trying to hide the disgust he felt. “Get up to your room and change, wash your face, and comb your hair.”

  “I’m going. I’m going.”

  “I hope so. We don’t want to scare the ladies the minute they walk through the door. Make it fast. As soon as Farley arrives and starts the music, I’ll open the doors. Let Dichelle know the show will begin in about thirty minutes.”

  Hunter glanced at the door. “Where is Farley, anyway?”

  “Here!” The small man hurried through the back door, a bow tie Hunter had never seen before fastened around his neck. The fellow’s hair was uncharacteristically combed, slicked back, to be exact, and he wore Sunday go-to-meeting clothes.

  “You look presentable, Farley. Thank you for taking the time to clean up. Now get over to the piano and start tickling the keys. Not too loud, mind you. The ladies will be chatting, and we want them to be able to hear each other.”

  Farley saluted and hurried to the piano.

  Excitement hummed in the air. Would Albert allow his wife to attend? Thom too? Chase, Charlie, or Gregory? The men had been very closemouthed about the whole affair after he’d assured them there would be no alcohol served. Just coffee and tea.

  When Farley began a soft rendition of some song he didn’t recognize, Hunter took a deep breath and sauntered to the door. This reminded him of the evenings they had on the trail, when the wagon master, either him or Thorp, would gather everyone around the campfire and review the past few days and talk about the days to come, what obstacles they might incur, the weather, Indians. He was not frightened to speak to a crowd. His only nerves were caused by wondering if Tabitha would actually show up.

  He opened the door. In the few minutes since he’d last checked, the crowd of excited-faced ladies had grown.

  “Good day,” he said loudly, the crisp air snapping at his face. The snow from Wednesday afternoon was gone. He stepped out and fastened the swinging doors in the open position. “Welcome to the first ladies’ day at the Bright Nugget! We have a very nice show in store for you.”

  He saw Maude and Beth standing in the crowd. As well as Violet, Mrs. Harrell, Nell Axelrose—Seth Cotton’s sister—standing with a woman he didn’t recognize. He did recognize the two women from New Meringue who’d bought Tabitha’s teacup. They gave a bright smile when they caught his eye, their faces rosy from the cold. In the very back, he spotted Tabitha and her girlfriends. His heart thwacked against his ribs.

  “Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable. Philomena will be serving coffee and tea—on the house, of course.”

  He stepped back and the women came forward, timidly at first, and then with confidence. When Tabitha and the rest were only a few feet away, he sought out her gaze, and was a bit confused by the tender expression she sent his way. He actually glanced around to make sure she was looking at him and not someone behind his shoulder. Her laughing eyes said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

  When her group reached him, she stopped at his side and let her girlfriends move inside. “Mr. Wade,” she said, happiness ringi
ng in her voice. “This is such an interesting concept you’ve brought to our town.”

  “Oh?” He was still stymied that she was here, and addressing him in such a friendly manner. The warmth of her gaze left little to wonder about. “I’m just following your lead, Miss Canterbury—you know, the readings and all.”

  She tipped her head and looked up at him through her lashes, a shy laugh escaping her throat.

  What was going on? He’d never seen her so animated, or forward.

  “I better get inside. Susanna and the rest are holding my seat.” She leaned in and whispered, her fingertips resting on his forearm, “I never dreamed I’d see the inside of a saloon, or attend a show in one, for that matter. How scandalous.”

  Men stood in the doorways to their businesses, watching. Albert leaned against the side of the sheriff’s office, his arms crossed over his chest and Thom by his side. Seemed the men were stewing. They might not understand now, but they would tomorrow night when it was their chance to attend.

  Hunter gave a wave, stepped inside to the music, then pulled the door closed. His gaze went directly in search of Tabitha. He found her a few rows from the back, gazing around as if the inside of the Bright Nugget were as interesting as Niagara Falls.

  By the stove, Kendall, now spit clean and shiny, waved him back. After a quick glance to the blanketed balcony, Hunter hurried over.

  “Help me pour this coffee,” Kendall barked. “Philomena has already gone through one pot just serving the first row. She’s taking out the cookie tray while we do this.”

  Philomena rushed up to Hunter’s side. “A woman wants to know if she can have a shot of whiskey in her coffee.”

  Hunter’s head jerked up. “What? Who?”

  “I don’t know her, but the others sitting around her who heard what she’d asked for all nodded like they were going to ask for the same. When I told her all we were serving was coffee, tea, and cookies she asked what kind of a saloon we were running.”