The Bride of Willow Creek

by Maggie Osborne

  “Then why did you come here?” Mrs. Govenor stared at her with undisguised dislike. “If you hadn’t come to Willow Creek, no one would ever have known that Laura wasn’t an honest, decent woman. Our name would be untarnished.”

  Angie felt her gorge rising with an odd sympathy for Laura. “From everything I’ve heard, your daughter was an honest, decent woman. She made an unfortunate choice, but that doesn’t change who she was. From all accounts, she was a good person.” What had the world come to? Now Angie was defending a woman she had loathed up till this minute. In fact, as recently as this morning, she had agreed with Mrs. Govenor’s assessment of her daughter’s character. But it pained her that Laura’s mother could no longer recognize any admirable qualities in her daughter.

  “Your defense of a woman who lived openly with your husband shocks me, Mrs. Holland. Your sentiments confirm my opinion that you’re totally unsuitable to care for my granddaughters.”

  Angie’s spine snapped to attention and her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon.”

  “If you believe a woman who chooses to live in adultery can retain any honesty or decency, then you clearly should not be acting as a mother to my granddaughters. May heaven protect them from your influence!”

  Sputtering, Angie fell backward in her chair.

  “And don’t think you’re fooling anyone. Mr. Govenor and I know why you came here.”

  “I came in hopes of obtaining a long-overdue divorce.”

  “We know the real reason. And I promise you this ploy will come to nothing. When Sam fails to provide Daisy’s much-needed operation, the court will award custody to us. If Sam thinks bringing his wife into this house will alter the court’s ruling—it won’t. Your presence and the implication of forgiveness and acceptance means nothing. Underneath, Sam Holland is still an immoral man.”

  Angie’s pulse pounded at the base of her throat. “Sam has made his share of mistakes, maybe more than his share, but he is not immoral! I haven’t been here long, but I’ve talked to enough shopkeepers and townspeople to know that Sam is well liked and respected.”

  “This pretense of creating a stable household is only that. A pretense. I wasn’t in Willow Creek more than three hours before I knew Sam was sleeping in your backyard.”

  “I will not discuss our sleeping arrangements with you or anyone else.” Outrage flamed on her cheeks. “But I can assure you that I did not come to Willow Creek because of your custody suit.” Anger shook her voice. “I didn’t know about Laura or the girls until I arrived.”

  “I doubt the judge will find that explanation any more convincing than I do.”

  “Will the judge believe your contention that Sam and I had no communication for ten years and then Sam suddenly requested my help to beat his lover’s parents in court and I said Of course I’ll help you? That’s ridiculous!”

  “It doesn’t matter because Mr. Holland will never find the wherewithal to provide Daisy’s surgery within the time granted by the court. And we will not tolerate an appeal based on the questionable appearance of a wife and a cozy family charade.”

  Angie stood. She was not Laura and she didn’t care about this woman’s approval. If Mrs. Govenor wanted blunt talk, that’s what she would get.

  “I didn’t come to Willow Creek as a ploy to influence the court if the need arose. But now that I’m here, I’ll help Sam in every way I can to retain custody of his daughters. He’s a good father, and he loves those girls. It would be a miscarriage of justice if he loses them and if they lose him. Lucy and Daisy should be with their father.”

  “We are their blood relatives and we should raise them!” Mrs. Govenor rose also. They faced each other across the kitchen table. “Look around you, Mrs. Holland. My granddaughters are living in a shack. They attend a third-rate school. Every day of their lives, they are exposed to drunks, brawls, and women of ill repute. Their father, as you call him, is a known adulterer. Mr. Govenor and I can give them a decent life.”

  “Your blindness and narrow-mindedness take my breath away!” Angie stared. “If you care so much about your granddaughters, then why didn’t you offer to pay for Daisy’s operation with no strings attached? Pay for her surgery simply because she needs it. Pay for it because her life will be better with a straightened foot!”

  “How dare you!”

  “Do you know that other children laugh at her and tease her? Do you know that people stare at her? Can you even guess what agony it is for her to buy new shoes? Have you ever seen her foot? She tries to hide it, you know.” Full fury overcame her. Her eyes blazed; her hands flew; she fizzed. “I don’t think you really care about Daisy. I think you use her and your money in an attempt to control. First Laura, and now Sam. If you cared about Daisy, Daisy would have had that operation years ago!”

  White-faced and trembling, Mrs. Govenor drew herself rigid. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Daisy would have had her operation years ago if Laura had come home. That’s all she had to do. Just come home.”

  “So you punished Daisy because Laura wanted to be happy.” Angie’s lip curled. “And you dare to question my qualifications to be a mother.”

  Now it was Mrs. Govenor who sputtered in fury. “I actually felt sorry for you. I lowered myself to apologize.” A shudder convulsed her shoulders. “I see now that you and Mr. Holland are of the same bad ilk.”

  “I want you to leave. Right now. And don’t return to this house again.”

  Spinning in a swirl of gray silk, Mrs. Govenor marched to the front door, her head held high. She paused with her hand on the latch and shot a venomous look back at Angie. “You are not in control here, Mrs. Holland. Mr. Govenor and I are granted access to our granddaughters by the court. I shall return if and when I please, as often as I please, and you have nothing to say about the matter.”

  Angie expected her to slam the door, and perhaps she wanted to, but Mrs. Govenor’s dignity reappeared and the door closed softly behind her.

  Dignity was not Angie’s long suit. Throwing back her head, she shouted “damn” at the ceiling, then ran outside and yanked the laundry off the line, scattering clothespins all over the ground. She threw the clean clothing on her bed, then sat on top of it and covered her face with her hands.

  With all her heart, she wished she could turn back the clock and have five more minutes with her mother. She longed to tell her mother that she had never doubted that she was loved. Had Angie made the same choices as Laura, her mother would have been as shocked and horrified as Mrs. Govenor. But Emily Bertoli would never have disowned her daughter. She would have wept, prayed, and blamed herself for raising Angie wrong, and in the end she would have fought to understand.

  Throwing back her head, Angie stared at the ceiling. Mrs. Govenor could not be allowed to raise Lucy and Daisy. The wrong things were important to Laura’s mother.

  Right now, feeling as she did, if she had believed it would help, Angie would have joined Sam at his diggings every night and would have swung a pick until dawn looking for gold. They had to find the money for Daisy’s operation. And soon.

  The minute Sam heard that Herb Govenor was in town, he nodded slowly and abandoned his usual routine. He wouldn’t be going up to his claim tonight. He’d been awaiting the Govenors’ arrival, taking for granted that they would be among the out-of-town dignitaries invited to the hotel’s grand opening.

  After the six o’clock whistle, he gave his tools to Rafe for safekeeping, then washed at the rain barrel and slicked back his hair. The Govenors might be staying at the new hotel, but he guessed it more likely that they would stop at the Congress as they usually did. If so, at this hour Herb would be in the bar off the lobby.

  The Miners’ Bar smelled of polished oak, soft leather, and rich cigar smoke. There were no wood shavings on the floor in here, no painted women competing for a quick trip upstairs. Men in evening dress relaxed in deep club chairs, discussing investments and the syndicates that many of them headed.

  In his denims and w
ork shirt, his paint-spattered boots and worn hat, Sam stuck out like a penny in a pile of gold coins. A few years ago most of the men in the bar had looked like Sam and had dreamed Sam’s dreams. The scowls directed his way said these men resented an echo from the past invading their sanctuary. Most didn’t welcome a reminder of the hard days before mansions and fancy carriages.

  Herbert Govenor shared a table with two other newly minted moguls, only one of whom was worth a damn in Sam’s opinion. That was Marcus Applebee, a man who hadn’t forgotten where he came from.

  Applebee stood and shook Sam’s hand with a smile of pleasure. “I was thinking about you not long ago. The mayor tells me you’re going to build a new school on the upside of Bennet. It’s a good idea that’s long overdue. When you’re ready to put together the financing, come see me.”

  “I’ll do that, Marcus.” Sam watched Herb Govenor push to his feet, and his face went flat. “It’s time we talked.”

  “You and I have nothing to say to each other.”

  “We can talk here, or we can talk privately.”

  Clamping his cigar between his teeth, Govenor studied Sam’s hard eyes before he nodded shortly and dropped his cigar in an ashtray. Sam followed him to the door of the bar, feeling the stares of curiosity that trailed him.

  In the light of the marble-floored lobby, he got his first good look at Herb Govenor since he’d seen him in court months before. It seemed that Govenor had added a few pounds to his tall wiry frame. His hairline had receded another inch. But the arrogance and hatred hadn’t changed. Both were starkly evident.

  “What do you want, Holland?”

  Other than a desk clerk at the far end of the room, they were alone in the lobby. Still, Sam lowered his voice. “I want the fires to stop.” Govenor stared at him. “I know what you’re doing. If the jobs dry up, I won’t be able to afford Daisy’s surgery, and then you’ll take my daughters.”

  “You’re accusing me of starting the fires on your sites?”

  “I’m accusing you of hiring it done.” They squared off, facing each other. “So far no one has been injured, and the places you burned are owned by people who can afford the loss. But it ends now or I go to the authorities.”

  “You can’t prove a damned thing.”

  The lack of denial solidified Sam’s suspicions into fact, and fury boiled in his chest. “You son of a bitch!”

  Govenor leaned close, his eyes glittering. “I’m going to ruin you like you ruined my daughter.”

  He hit Govenor hard enough that Govenor went down and slid sprawling on the marble floor, and Sam wondered if he’d broken his knuckles. Govenor regained his feet quickly for a man twice Sam’s age, and they fell on each other, punching and gouging with no regard to where they were, with no thought but to inflict damage and punishment.

  By the time the men in the Miners’ Bar had rushed into the lobby and pulled them apart, bright blood soaked Govenor’s shirt front and waistcoat, and the front of Sam’s shirt was equally red. Both had aching jaws and ribs, and both had swollen eyes that would turn blue-black by morning.

  None of the men crowding around the combatants considered sending for the law, and none thought of inquiring into the cause of the fight. Most knew and respected Sam Holland and Herb Govenor, and most knew an explosive family situation existed between them.

  Marcus Applebee placed an arm around Sam’s shoulders and turned him toward the street door. “It’s over now, son.”

  “Not by a long shot,” Sam muttered, testing his jaw and checking for loose teeth. He ached all over. Herb might be getting old, but he could still throw a mean punch. All Sam could hope was that he’d given as good as he got.

  Marcus grinned. “Best fight I’ve seen in a while. Another two minutes and you would have had him.” They stepped outside and offered a token glance toward the sinking sun.

  Sam pressed his handkerchief against the blood dripping from his nose. “Are you still buying?”

  “I’m always interested in making money. What have you got?”

  “Not me. Not yet. Cannady Johnson. I’ve got a feeling Can’s about to pop. If so, he’ll get a fairer shake from you than from most of them in there.” He jerked his head toward the hotel and immediately regretted the abrupt movement.

  “I’ve got some contacts. I’ll check out the assays and if things look promising, I’ll talk to Johnson.”

  “Good.” He looked at his bloody handkerchief and damned if he didn’t picture Angie kneeling over the scrub board and having a fit about bloodstains. He almost laughed.

  “Sam. If I told you how much money per day my company is taking out of the Moose Jaw Mine, your mouth would fall open. If you ever need—”

  Pride reared past the pain in his nose and ribs and his shoulders stiffened. He stuck out his hand and gripped Marcus Applebee’s palm firmly. “I hope it works out for Cannady. He’s close. Goodnight, Marcus.”

  “The problem with being stubborn as a mule is that it turns a man into a jackass.”

  “Could be,” Sam said with a smile and a wave.

  He’d hoped he could go directly to his tent and clean up a bit before he faced Angie. But she and Molly Johnson were sitting on the back steps enjoying the sunset and eating bowls of wild raspberries with the girls.

  Angie looked at his battered face and the blood on his shirt and screamed. Lucy and Daisy dropped their bowls and burst into tears.

  Chapter 11

  “Sometimes you just got to wonder what God was thinking when he created men,” Molly said, staring at Sam through the fading light. Short waves of silver swung against her cheeks as she shook her head and stood. “Damn fools.”

  Angie leaped off the steps and ran forward. Her hands flew around Sam’s face and chest, but she was afraid to touch him because she wasn’t sure where he was injured.

  “Now, girls.” Molly frowned down at them. “Stop that caterwauling.” Lucy and Daisy sat frozen on the stairs, peering at Sam through their fingers and sobbing in fear and panic. “Head wounds gush like a leak in a dam, especially when the leak’s in the nose, but it’s over now. Your pa is standing on his own two feet, no bones are sticking out, and the bleeding’s almost stopped.”

  “Sam! What happened?”

  “Molly’s right,” he called to the girls. “I’m fine.”

  He was a long way from fine. “You’re covered in blood and one of your eyes is almost swollen shut!” She had to get water and an eye wash. Alum to stop the blood trickling from his nose. There was nothing she could do for the bruise spreading on his jaw. She started to touch his nose then jerked her hand back. His nose didn’t look broken, but it had started to swell. “Oh my heavens. Oh my heavens.”

  Sam gripped her shoulders and peered into her eyes. “Angie, it’s all right. I’m going to be sore as hell, but nothing’s busted.”

  Her heart was going to pound through her chest, she just knew it, and her hands shook.

  Paralysis broken, Lucy and Daisy raced past her and threw themselves around Sam’s legs, hanging on and crying. Sam patted their backs and threw Molly a glance.

  Striding through the twilight, Molly pried the girls loose. “Come along now. You come to my place and we’ll have another bowl of raspberries. If you ask nice, I’ll bet you can persuade Mr. Johnson to tell you a story.” She lifted her head. “I’ll keep ’em overnight. Looks like you two have some catching up to do.”

  Sam knelt and placed his arms around both girls. “You go with Mrs. Molly. I’ll fetch you in the morning.”

  Daisy wiped a sleeve across her eyes. “Are you going to die, Papa?”

  “It takes more than a nosebleed to kill me, honey.”

  “Your eye is all swollen.” Lucy stared at him, her face as white as paper. “You look scary.”

  “I ran into a bit of trouble, but I’ll be right as rain in a few days.” Standing, he gave the girls a little push. “Molly? Thank you.”

  As soon as he’d waved his daughters inside Molly’s house, Sam g
ingerly placed a hand against his ribs and groaned. “Damn.”

  “Come inside,” Angie said, picking up her skirts. “I’ll heat some water. No, I already have hot water on the stove.” But where were her medical supplies? Under the sink. But there wasn’t much she could do. The only injuries she could doctor were his eye and his nose. “Sit there,” she said, pointing to a kitchen chair. “I need a rag.” Thank heaven it was laundry day. Everything was clean and at hand.

  She dipped a laundered rag in the hot water on the back of the stove, wrung it out over the sink, then folded the cloth into a pad. “Put this on your eye. If we’ve caught it soon enough, the heat will prevent further discoloration.”

  He drew back. “It’s hot.”

  “It’s supposed to be.”

  Swearing and grinding his teeth, he let her dab alum on his nose. Stepping back, Angie nodded with satisfaction when the bleeding stopped. Now to clean him up.

  “Can you get out of that shirt by yourself or do you need help?” At once she saw that he couldn’t hold the hot pad to his eye and take off his shirt.

  Even anxious and feeling squeamish about the blood, stripping off his shirt made her face flame. His bare skin felt firm and warm beneath her fingers, and she was very aware that she was touching bare parts of his body that she’d never touched before. Once she had his shirt off, she wet another rag and bathed blood smears off his throat.

  “Stop looking at me,” she said in an odd voice. She stood close beside him and his naked chest. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body, to feel his breath on the back of her hand. Close enough to sense the speculation behind his steady gaze. Flustered, she lowered her eyes.