by Debra Cowan
“Aha, here it is.” The older man smiled triumphantly and handed her the telegram.
It was indeed from Smith, and a quick glance confirmed everything Gideon had said upon his arrival. Though having the message in hand didn’t much matter now that her brother’s friend was already here, Ivy was glad to have it anyway.
“Now.” Elmer cleared a stack of paper from atop the telegraph machine. “Let me find the information for the stage line office.”
Ivy grimaced. “Are you sure you have it?”
“Yes, yes.” He set aside a scribbled note and looked up, his blue eyes troubled. “I can do this, Miss Ivy. It don’t matter what the mayor says. I can still run this telegraph office.”
Though Ivy wasn’t sure of that, she could see it meant a great deal to Elmer. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but this was too important to mess up. What if he couldn’t even get her message to the right place?
“It’s okay, Elmer. I can just write a letter.”
“No, no.” His voice cracked.
Gideon leaned close. “Are you worried he can’t tap out the right message?”
“Yes,” she said under her breath.
“Let him do it. I learned Morse code during the war. I can tell if it’s right or not.”
She looked up at him in surprise, as much because of his knowledge as because of his kindness to the older man.
“Here it is!” the telegraph operator exclaimed.
“Okay.” She leaned toward Elmer. “This is what I need to say.”
Minutes later, Ivy and Gideon stepped outside and began walking to the bank.
Despite her disappointment that she hadn’t received a quick response from the stage company, she tried not to dwell on it. She glanced at Gideon. “I can’t believe Elmer didn’t make a single mistake.”
“He’s probably done it for so long that he could tap those letters out blind.”
They crossed the street and angled past Howe’s Mercantile. As they neared the bank, Ivy spotted Conrad coming out of the saloon down the street.
When he started in her direction, she inwardly groaned. She had neither the time nor patience to deal with him today.
Gideon touched her elbow, sending a spark of heat up her arm. He tipped his head, showing that he had also spotted the stage driver.
Blocking her body with his, he opened the bank’s tall front door for her. “I’ll be right here. Take as long as you need.”
Peeking around his broad frame, she saw Conrad turn and go in the opposite direction. “Thank you.”
He nodded, his blue eyes warm on her face.
The look had her going soft inside. Aaargh! Flustered, she went through the door. The spacious interior boasted gray slate floors and stone walls. Three teller’s cages, constructed of gold-trimmed wrought iron, greeted visitors. Each space had a desk, and on the wall behind was a wide vault door.
She approached the manager’s office, her stomach knotting. She’d never asked for a loan. She’d also never been in this situation before.
A few minutes later, she was sitting in front of tall, lanky Titus Rowland’s desk. Her spine went rigid. “What do you mean, you can’t loan money to a single woman?”
“It’s bank policy, Ivy.”
“But...but you know me.” She curled and uncurled her reticule strings, her gaze falling on the tintype of Titus and his late wife, Lolly, on the wall behind him. “You’ve known me for years.”
“I’m sorry.” Sincere regret stamped his homely features.
“I was married longer than I’ve been a widow. Why should I be denied help just because I lost my husband?”
The gangly man shifted uncomfortably. “This isn’t my decision in the end.”
“I plan to use my farm as collateral, and I’m waiting to hear if I have a new contract with the stage line. That has to count for something.” A greasy knot formed in her stomach. She couldn’t just give up. “I see no reason why you can’t help me.”
Especially since she had put more sweat and effort into the stage stand than Tom ever had. Jittery with anxiety, she forced herself to remain seated, though she scooted to the edge of the leather chair. “I’ll lose the business altogether and maybe my farm, too, if I don’t get this loan. Please, Titus.”
His shrewd gray eyes softened. “You’ve sure given a lot to make a go of it.”
“And I’ll continue to work hard. I will pay back the money. You know I will.”
“I’ll talk to the other members of the committee and try to convince them to waive the policy.”
Ivy jumped up and snagged his hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Titus. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t get your hopes up. What if I can’t change their minds?”
“You will. And you won’t regret helping me. I promise.”
His smile transformed his gaunt features. “It will be a few days, but I’ll let you know.”
He walked her out of his office and across the slate floor, opening the front door for her.
She patted his bony arm. “Thank you again, Titus.”
He lifted a hand in farewell as she stepped outside. Feeling more optimistic than she had since all the trouble at the farm had begun, she joined Gideon at the bottom of the stone steps.
The slow smile he gave her sent a tingle to her toes and made her skin prickle with awareness.
“You look like you got good news,” he said.
“Not yet, but I think I will.” As they started to the livery for the wagon, she explained what had happened with Titus.
“Sounds promising.”
“Yes, I’m encouraged. Thank you again for that idea about contracting with the stage company on my own. Titus seemed impressed.”
“I’m glad if I helped.”
He had, she realized. In more ways than just this.
He did chores for no wages, protected her. Not only had he made sure her wire to the stage company was correct, he’d also managed to keep Conrad from bothering her. For that alone, she could kiss the man.
The thought jolted her, and she immediately pushed it away. She didn’t want that with him. Well, maybe she did, just a tad, but she knew better than to let herself be tempted by the idea. It might lead to being trapped in another situation that would be difficult to escape.
After finding Tug, it had been easy to lean on Gideon. Too easy. She appreciated all that her brother’s friend had done since arriving, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—depend on a man ever again. She’d learned that the hard way from her late husband.
Chapter Four
Smith’s sister had grit. That had been impressed upon Gideon again yesterday in town. Ivy had lost a horse, her beloved dog and possibly her contract with the mayor. Rather than bellyaching, she had faced those problems head-on and tried to find a solution to what she could.
Had she become that tough and independent after the death of her husband? Or had she always been that way? Gideon didn’t find a lot to admire in most women. Of course, that could be because he refused to share space with them longer than it took to learn their names. Ivy was different. Because of his promise to her brother, Gideon had already spent more time with her than he ever had spent with a woman, and that was only going to continue.
By midmorning the next day, both he and Ivy were busy with chores. Gideon had replaced two rotten slats on the back side of the corral. Now he stood at the chicken house, testing the sturdy latch he had just installed.
The pup chased a bit of fuzz blowing from a dandelion, running in a dizzying circle before plopping down in the grass and looking up at Gideon with dazed eyes. He grinned. This afternoon, he planned to whitewash the fence that encircled the house, but right now he wanted to check the woods in front of the place. He hadn’t been out there since yest
erday morning.
He rounded the barn, the pup trotting in his footsteps. She stopped every foot or so to sniff another piece of grass or bat at a cricket. Suddenly, Thunder’s ears pricked up. She gave an excited yelp and changed direction, racing toward the barn.
Curious, Gideon angled that way, too. The pup yipped again, and Gideon stopped in the barn doorway just as Ivy bent to scoop up the animal.
With a soft laugh, she managed to keep Thunder from licking her face.
Now that Gideon’s eyes had adjusted to the dimmer light, he could see a large basket of laundry sitting on his bunk. Ivy spotted him then.
“Hello.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes. Putting the pup down, she reached back and gripped the edge of the basket. “Today is laundry day. Is there anything you want washed?”
“I can do it.”
“It’s no trouble, Mr. Black. You’re not causing me extra work.”
That was only one reason he wasn’t interested.
She laid a hand on the mound of clothes swelling over the basket’s top. “A pair of your trousers are in here and two of your shirts. If you give me the one you have on, I’ll wash it.”
No way in hell was he taking off his shirt in front of her. “I’m wearin’ it.”
Her gaze dropped to his chest, lingered as though she could see beneath the garment. Damn good thing she couldn’t.
“You could work without—”
“I’ve finished the latch on the henhouse door.” He tried to keep his tone level. She didn’t really know what she was asking of him. He hoped she would just leave it be. “I’m headed to the woods.”
After a pause, she asked, “To see if the branch has been disturbed?”
He nodded.
“I hope you find it hasn’t.”
“Me, too.” As he turned to walk out, he noticed the pup chewing at the hem of Ivy’s gray day dress.
She looked down then, too, and bent to tug the fabric from Thunder’s sharp teeth while scolding the animal in the least threatening tone Gideon had ever heard. It made him smile. He was still smiling when he reached the line of trees.
Breathing in the scent of pine, he wove his way around trees, pushed aside a clump of bush then another. He slowed as he neared the bois d’arc tree, his gaze dropping to the ground. The branch was broken!
Moving carefully, Gideon knelt and studied the boot print between what was now two pieces of twig.
Someone had been here since yesterday. What had they seen? How long had they stayed? Who the hell was it? From the shape and length of the boot and the depth of the imprint, he judged the visitor had been a man.
After pocketing the broken limb, he arranged another slender branch in the same spot and anchored it with a rock on either end. He headed for the house to show Ivy the halved branch. He was careful to watch where he stepped this time, searching for matching boot prints or other signs of a trespasser.
Between the woods and the house, the only identifiable prints he found were his own. He passed through the front gate and continued down the side of the house. A cloud of smoke drifted from the backyard.
The acrid smell of burning wood and the visible side of a black kettle confirmed Ivy was doing laundry. Just as he reached the corner of the house, the back door squeaked open then clattered shut.
“Miss Ivy?”
She glanced over as he drew even with her at the edge of the porch. Struggling to balance the overly full basket of clothes, she angled her body so she could see to step from the stoop.
“Here, let me help you.” Gideon moved toward her, glancing down when he saw something in the thick grass. Something heavy. Iron.
Moving on pure instinct, he leaped over the object and lunged for Ivy. He wrapped an arm around her waist, grabbing a porch column to keep from falling.
Her breath whooshed out. The basket and laundry flew into the air.
Gideon’s heel hit something hard, and there was a loud metal snap, sharp and startling in the quietness. Holding her tight, he got his legs under him and turned.
It was a trap. Someone had set an animal trap.
Ivy pushed at the arm he had locked around her waist. “You scared the daylights out of me! What are you doing?”
He loosened his hold a bit, angling her toward the spot where she’d stood.
The instant she caught sight of the snare and its wicked teeth, she stilled immediately. Her voice came out in a choked whisper. “Is that a trap?”
“Yes.”
“Someone put that there on purpose.”
“Yes.” The device had been arranged just so in the grass and the spring set.
If Ivy hadn’t shifted to one side so she could see to step down onto the ground, Gideon probably wouldn’t have glimpsed the object. A slick, greasy knot lodged in his gut.
She went limp as she made a sound like a sob. He started to put her on her feet, but she turned full into him, her arms latching around his neck.
Automatically, his arms wrapped around her. Trembling, she clutched him so tightly he felt her touch clear to his heart. That thing could’ve taken off her foot at her dainty ankle or mangled it beyond repair.
His chest felt strangely weak. Though glad she had escaped the trap, his relief edged quickly into a seething anger.
Ivy’s heart was pounding so hard, he could hear it. Or maybe that was his. Her braid bumped the back of his hand. Beneath his touch, he felt the lithe tautness of her waist, the delicate line of her back. She buried her face in his neck. He felt like burying his face in her neck, too.
They stood like that for a long time. As he struggled to leash his fury, his pulse gradually slowed. The stinging smell of lye soap and woodsmoke drifted around them, but it was the subtle scent of her skin that settled him.
She wasn’t hurt. She was all right.
“Gideon?” she breathed shakily. She lifted her head and stared at him with those midnight eyes.
What he saw there nearly made him swallow his teeth. No woman had ever looked at him this way—as if she had complete faith in him. As if she needed him.
No. Hell, no. Nothing good could come from that.
He slowly lowered her to the ground, clenching his jaw at the slide of her body all the way down his front.
She gripped his biceps and gave a wobbly laugh. “Give me a minute. I don’t think my legs will hold me yet.”
He didn’t want to let go at all. Her breasts were full and soft against him, her magnolia scent teasing. Involuntarily, he smoothed an unsteady hand down her hair.
Her still-rapid breath brushed his chin. His gaze dropped to her mouth. He wanted to taste her. Even though his mind was fuzzy with relief and lust, he knew kissing her would be a mistake.
The sudden wariness in her eyes snapped him out of the moment. He stepped back, releasing her.
She wiped her hands down her skirts then wrapped her arms around herself.
Her beautiful features were chalk-white, her expression raw, vulnerable, just like when they’d found her dog. Gideon almost reached out to touch her again, but stopped himself. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, thanks to you.” Her color returned slowly as she blanked her face. She seemed completely composed.
Did nothing put her off stride? Wasn’t she angry? The attempt to harm her blistered him up. He knew she’d been rattled; she’d trembled so hard against him he’d thought she might shatter.
She stared across the yard for long seconds then moved jerkily toward the overturned basket and righted it.
He fought to rein in his temper. “I’ll help you gather up the laundry. Then I’ll take care of the trap.”
“All right— Oh, Thunder!”
“She’s probably fine, but I’ll make sure.”
“I’m glad she didn’t follow me
from the barn.”
Gideon began to pick up sheets and shirts.
She glanced at him. “Were you looking for me earlier?”
His hands closed over a delicate nightgown, and he stared down at it for a moment. An image of her in the linen garment flashed through his brain. Desire tangled with the anger and relief still working through him.
“Gideon? Did you want me for something?”
He damn sure did, but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. Reaching into his back trouser pocket, he pulled out the twigs. “Uh, yeah. I was coming from the woods to tell you the branch had been broken.”
“You checked yesterday and the stick was undisturbed. It had to have been snapped last night.”
He nodded.
“Whoever was in the woods is likely who set that trap.”
The device had been placed in a spot that Ivy frequented. He saw when she put it together.
“They set that trap for me,” she breathed out in horrified realization.
“That’s what I think, too.”
“Oh.” The bit of color she’d regained disappeared, and her fingers curled so tightly on the lip of the basket that her knuckles turned white.
She looked wobbly. He reached out as if to steady her, but stopped when she drew back. “I’m all right.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” She glanced back at the heavy iron snare. “Thank goodness you saw that thing. If I’d stepped on it—”
“But you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t.” Her gaze met his. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was no denying that someone was out for her, and they’d gotten closer to her than they should have. Gideon wouldn’t let that happen again.
The anger he felt at her near injury didn’t surprise him, but the sudden unfamiliar tide of possessiveness that welled inside him did. He didn’t understand it. Ivy didn’t belong to him; he didn’t want her to. But the desire he’d been reining in rose to the surface.
Damn, he wanted her. Even more than he remembered wanting Eleanor.