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“It’s not far, just six blocks.” Rand glanced down at her high-top shoes, already covered with dust from the unpaved street. “But we can get a buggy if it’s too far for you to walk.”
His thoughtful gesture threatened to weaken her, so Marybeth forced her defenses back in place. “The wind has died down and it’s a lovely day. Let’s walk.” She punctuated her cheerful tone with a bright smile. “Besides, Boston’s a very hilly city and I walked everywhere there. This flat town is no challenge.”
He chuckled—a pleasant, throaty sound. “If you’re used to hills, I’ll have to take you up in the mountains for a hike. That sure would challenge you.” His teasing tone was accompanied by quick grin before a frown darted over his tanned face. “Of course we’d take a suitable chaperone.” His hastily spoken addition showed once again his eagerness to please her.
Oh, how she longed to trust him. Yet how could she dare to when he hadn’t even told her about that deadly gunfight Maisie was so proud of? When Marybeth spoke of delaying their marriage, his hurt feelings and disappointment had been obvious. Shouldn’t he have bragged about the killing, assuming she’d regard him as a hero and change her mind? She’d been honest with him about her family, at least as close to honest as she’d dared to be, but he was hiding a very significant happening in his life.
“This is the street.”
Rand steered her down a row of attractive two-story houses, several of which rivaled some of Boston’s finer clapboard homes. One redbrick structure reminded her of Boston’s older Federal-style mansions. Numerous houses were in varying stages of completion, adding to the picture of the growing community about which Colonel and Mrs. Northam had told Marybeth. Young cottonwood and elm trees lined the street, and several fenced-in yards boasted a variety of shrubbery and colorful flowers in the last blooms of summer.
“What a pretty town.” Her words came out on a sigh.
“We like it.” Rand smiled his appreciation of her compliment, and her heart lifted unexpectedly.
Peace hung in the air like a warm mantle, belying the town’s Wild West location. Maybe Esperanza would be a good place to call home after she found Jimmy. It all depended upon the people and whether or not she fit into the community.
“Here’s Mrs. Foster’s house.” Rand indicated a pretty brown house with a white picket fence, a stone foundation, a wide front porch whose roof was supported by slender columns, and gabled windows jutting out from the second floor.
A slender, gray-haired woman with a slightly bent posture bustled out of the front door. “Oh, here you are at last. Welcome, welcome.” She descended the steps, holding the railing beside them, and pulled Marybeth into a warm embrace. “I’m so glad to meet you, Miss O’Brien. Welcome to Esperanza. Welcome to my home.”
Tears flooded Marybeth’s eyes. She hadn’t been held in a maternal embrace in the four long years since Mam died, and oh, how she’d missed it. No formal introduction could have moved Marybeth as this lady’s greeting did. She obviously possessed an open heart and generous spirit, just like some of the older ladies at her Boston church. “I’m so pleased to meet you, too, Mrs. Foster.”
“Hello, Rand.” The lady embraced him briefly and then looped an arm in Marybeth’s and propelled her toward the stairs. “Come along, my dear. Tolley brought your trunk and carried it up to your room. If you need help unpacking, I’ll be happy to assist you.”
“Thank you.” Marybeth glanced over her shoulder. Da never let Mam have friends, but Rand seemed pleased by Mrs. Foster’s warm welcome.
Inside the cozy, well-furnished parlor, Mrs. Foster seated Marybeth on a comfortable green-brocade settee, waving Rand to the spot beside her. “You two sit right here, and I’ll bring tea.” She left the room humming.
“I sure am glad to see her so happy.” Rand had removed his hat and placed it on a nearby chair. He brushed a hand through his dark brown hair and smoothed out the hat line. “She’s been grieving for a long time. Probably will for the rest of her life.” The hint of emotion in his voice revealed genuine compassion. “Having you stay here will be good for her.”
Marybeth could not discern any ulterior motive in his words or demeanor. Once again she was confounded. Why would a gunslinger care about an old widow? “I’ll be glad to help in any way I can.” She eyed the piano. “That’s a beautiful instrument. Do you suppose she would let me play it?” When Da wasn’t around, Mam had taught Marybeth to play, using the piano in a neighborhood church. She’d gone to practice as often as she could, first to escape Da’s anger, later for the sheer enjoyment of playing.
“I think she’d be pleased to hear you.” Rand moved a hand closer to Marybeth’s but pulled it back before he made contact, apparently rethinking the gesture. “I’d like to hear you play, too.”
The intensity of his gaze stirred an unfamiliar sensation in her chest. Was it admiration? Oddly, traitorously, she hoped he did admire her. What girl didn’t want to be appreciated?
“Well, I’d need to practice first. It’s been a while since I played.”
He seemed about to respond, but Mrs. Foster entered the room carrying a black-lacquered tray filled with all the necessities for a lovely tea. Rand stood, as any true gentleman would, until Mrs. Foster reclaimed her seat.
“Oh, my.” He looked hungrily at the cake, the look every cook hoped for. “It’s a good thing we didn’t have any dessert at the café.”
“The café!” Mrs. Foster blustered in an amiable way. “Why, I can outcook that Pam Williams any day.” She raised her dark gray eyebrows and stared at Rand expectantly.
“Now, Mrs. Foster.” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “There’s a reason I never volunteer to judge the Harvest Home baking contest or any other one. As a bachelor, I don’t want to get in trouble with any of the many fine cooks we’re so fortunate to have here in Esperanza. You don’t know how much we depend on your good graces to have a decent meal from time to time.”
He waggled his eyebrows at Marybeth and she bit back a laugh. It was their first moment of camaraderie, and it felt...right. Very much so. Oh, Lord, hold on to my heart. Please don’t let me fall in love with this man.
* * *
“Humph.” Mrs. Foster poured tea and passed it to her guests. If Rand weren’t so used to Mother’s Wedgwood china, he’d worry about breaking the delicate cup that was too small for his large hands.
Mrs. Foster served the cake and then focused on Rand. “Well, young man, you won’t be a bachelor for much longer. Have you chosen your wedding date?”
He did his best not to choke on his tea. Mrs. Foster’s question was understandable, but he hadn’t had time to figure out how to tell folks the wedding was off. Besides, his family should hear it first and from him. The way gossip both good and bad traveled through the community, he’d get home and find out Nate and Susanna had heard all about the “postponed” wedding.
“I’m sure everyone knows how much planning a wedding requires.” Marybeth sipped from her cup. “In fact, Maisie Henshaw tells me the church is planning to build an addition right after harvest, one that would accommodate large parties such as wedding receptions.” She took a bite of cake. “Oh, my, this certainly is an award-winning recipe.”
The smile she gave Mrs. Foster was utterly guileless, but Rand’s chest tightened. Marybeth hadn’t lied, but she hadn’t told the whole truth, either. Of course, he still had some truth-telling to do, as well, so he mustn’t judge her too harshly.
He noticed that Mrs. Foster’s eyes narrowed briefly, as though maybe she hadn’t been fooled by Marybeth’s little diversion from answering the question. She didn’t comment, however, just took a bite of cake. Food always provided a handy excuse for not saying something. Rand often used that ploy himself.
They passed several more minutes trading mundane information, as folks do when first meeting. Rand already knew everything Marybeth told Mrs. Foster, because she’d written it all in her letters. Too bad she hadn’t felt inclined to warn him about her plans to postpone the wedding until she found her brother. Guilt smote him again. He should have written to her about the gunfight. Should have anticipated someone else bringing it up. He couldn’t get over the idea that she already knew and that Maisie had told her. But what exactly did she know? What did she really think? These were things they needed to settle between the two of them, so he sure couldn’t ask her those questions in front of Mrs. Foster. The dear old lady never hesitated to give her opinion on any topic under discussion.
Marybeth seemed weary from her travels, so Rand took his leave, promising to visit the next day.
As he walked toward town to see if Tolley was still around, a dull ache settled into his chest, replacing the growing joy he’d felt for weeks in anticipation of meeting and marrying Marybeth. This was no more than he deserved. What lady from back East would understand what he’d done? He didn’t even understand it himself. Only his friends and neighbors proclaimed him a hero; only his younger brother wanted to copy his actions. He hated every memory of that fateful day and all he’d done that led up to it.
Shoving away those thoughts, he started his search for Tolley at Mrs. Winsted’s general store. He remembered to pick up a packet of cumin and spool of white thread his sister-in-law, Susanna, had asked for, but didn’t find his brother. Back out in the sunshine, he headed toward the livery and caught Tolley leading his saddled horse out of the stable.
“Say, shouldn’t you be over at Mrs. Foster’s wooing your pretty little bride-to-be?” Tolley’s impish expression made Rand want to tweak his nose, as he used to when they were scrappy little boys.
“She’s pretty tired from her travels.” Rand tried to sound cheerful so Tolley wouldn’t ask any more questions. “Did you order the rope from the hardware store?”
Tolley chortled. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me—”
“Northam!” A well-dressed, black-clad man, gun strapped to his leg, stepped off the boardwalk and strode toward them. “Randall Northam.”
Rand felt his dinner and Mrs. Foster’s cake rise up in his gullet. Another gunslinger out to prove himself. Didn’t he know better than to face two men? Tolley might be young and hotheaded, but he was a fast-drawing crack shot. Lord, please don’t let my brother get shot.
He sighed. “I’m Randall Northam. What can I do for you, Mr.—?”
A sly smile crept across the man’s face but his eyes remained as cold and deadly as a rattlesnake’s. And surprisingly familiar. “Name’s Hardison. Dathan Hardison. I believe you met my cousin Cole Lyndon about three years ago.”
Rand went cold all over. Frozen cold in spite of the sunshine beaming down on his shoulders and the warm summer breeze fanning over him. If the man drew on him, he wouldn’t be able to get his hand halfway to his holster. Somehow he managed to keep all emotion out of his face, a seasoned gambler’s ploy. Except he wasn’t a gambler. Not anymore. Nor was he a gunfighter, despite the gun at his side. But what could he say to the kin of the man he’d killed? Lord, help me.
“Yes, I ‘met’ Cole Lyndon. I’m sorry to say it was an unfortunate meeting.” On the other hand, the no-good horse thief had robbed and beaten Susanna’s father, leaving him for dead. The sheriff in Del Norte had said Cole had left a string of robberies and murders behind him. But no matter how often his friends called Rand a hero for outdrawing the wicked man, he’d never aspired to be an executioner. Never aspired to have every gunslinger from Montana to El Paso come gunning for him, risking his family and his town. So far he’d been able to talk himself out of another fight with humor or appeals to their better nature, even making a few friends of those who’d intended to face off with him. But revenge for injury to a man’s family was entirely different. Trouble was, Rand knew he’d take it badly if anyone hurt Nate or Tolley. Especially Tolley, whose heavy breathing gave evidence of his rising temper.
“Unfortunate meeting. Is that what you call it?” Hardison’s deadly cold tone hinted at imminent repayment for Rand’s crime. The man glanced over his shoulder toward the Friday-afternoon crowds meandering along Main Street. He rolled his head and gave an unpleasant laugh. “Just wanted to let you know I’m in town.” He slowly reached up to touch the brim of his hat in a mock salute, made as if to turn away and instead turned back. “Speaking of meeting, I almost had the pleasure of meeting a certain young lady from Boston on the train, but that sissified doctor and his cowgirl wife were playing nursemaid. I’ll be looking for an opportunity to introduce myself to her.”
Despite the horrifying pictures Hardison’s words conjured, despite the sick feeling in Rand’s gut, he sent up a prayer for grace. If this man hurt Marybeth... No, he wouldn’t let Hardison rile him. “You’ll find your sort of woman farther west, Hardison. Why don’t you get back on the train tomorrow and head that way?”
He snorted and gave Rand a nasty grin. “Watch your back, Northam. We’ll meet again.”
“Yeah, well, you’d just better watch your back, mister.” Tolley stepped slightly in front of Rand, his right hand poised to draw. “Why don’t we settle this here and now?”
“Now, now, young’un.” Hardison carelessly spat on the ground, but his right hand twitched. “Why don’t you go home to Mama and let the men handle this?”
“Forget it, Tolley. Don’t answer him.” Rand half faced his brother but kept one eye on the gunslinger. “Don’t say another word.” He recognized the signs. Hardison had no plan to draw. At least not now. Part of his fun was stalking his prey to make them nervous.
“I’ll be seeing you.” Again Hardison touched the brim of his hat, turned his back on them and strode away.
“Why didn’t you take him down?” Tolley pulled off his hat and slapped it against his leg, causing his horse to sidestep in alarm. “You’re going to have to sooner or later.”
“No.” Rand gripped his brother’s shoulder. “I made a deal with the Lord that I won’t kill another man like I did Cole Lyndon.” He’d do whatever was needed to protect his family and Marybeth, but never again would he kill someone to save his own life. Never again would he stare into the eyes of a man on his way to eternity, hopeless and without Jesus Christ because of him.
“Well, I didn’t make that deal.” Tolley glared after Hardison.
Rand swallowed hard as fear from his little brother gripped his belly. Why couldn’t Tolley understand? He’d told him all about his guilt, about the horror he’d faced watching a man die by his hand. And now here was another consequence of his actions. Tolley just might get himself killed copying what Rand had done, maybe trying to protect him. No matter what it took, Rand had to keep his little brother—and Marybeth—out of trouble.
Chapter Three (#ulink_2dc04dcd-9216-5c51-9832-ad5f4cbce585)
Halting, discordant notes of piano music invaded Marybeth’s senses and pulled her from a dreamless sleep. Mrs. Foster had said some of her students would have their lessons this afternoon, and this one clearly was a beginner.
Before Marybeth had lain down in the four-poster guest bed, her thoughtful hostess had brought a pitcher of hot water, but she’d been too tired to wash. Now, despite the tepid water, she freshened up from her travels, at least well enough to hold her until the promised Saturday-night bath. Her ablutions complete, she brushed the dust from her hair and wound it back into an upswept coiffure.
Still mellow from her nap, she studied her appearance in the dressing-table mirror, recalling with pleasure the way Rand had looked at her, how his gaze had lingered on her hair and then her eyes. His obvious admiration, gentlemanly in every way, would thrill any girl, as would his thoughtfulness.
Regret over her own behavior cut short her moment of joy. Perhaps she’d been hasty in her opinion of him. Everyone she’d met or seen today regarded him highly. Perhaps she could open her heart to him, if only for friendship. He seemed interested in helping her find Jimmy, and even though he didn’t approve of her working, surely he would understand her determination to support herself. When he came to take her to church on Sunday, she would ask for his help in finding a job.
She opened her trunk to lift out a fresh dress and then dug beneath the other garments for clean stockings. She caught a glimpse of white satin underneath it all and gulped back an unexpected sob. Mrs. Northam had insisted upon purchasing a wedding gown for her, and there it was packed in tissue. Shame brought an ache to her chest. She hadn’t meant to lie to Rand’s mother, at least not consciously. She’d merely grasped for an opportunity to search for Jimmy sooner than if she’d had to work for endless years to make enough money to come to Colorado. And now survival might force her to sell the beautiful satin gown. That would of course destroy her friendship with Mrs. Northam and Rosamond.
Marybeth shoved her emotions aside. Regrets and shame wouldn’t do any good. Instead of waiting to see Rand on Sunday, she must get busy and solve her own problems. Today was Friday and most businesses would be closing soon. She must go back to the center of town and search for a job for which her skills suited her. At the least, she could locate the best places to apply on Monday. Once she changed out of her traveling ensemble and put on a black linen dress appropriate for office work, she grabbed her parasol and made her way toward the staircase.
As she descended, she smiled at the uneven three-four meter of the piano piece, which didn’t quite obscure the melody of a Strauss waltz. Having had her own struggles to smooth out that same meter, she couldn’t resist peeking into the parlor.
A dark-haired girl of perhaps twelve years sat ramrod-straight on the piano stool, her fingers arched over the keys. Mrs. Foster sat in a chair beside her, wearing a strained smile.
“My dear Anna, I don’t believe you’ve been practicing enough this week.”
“No, ma’am, I haven’t.” Anna sat back and crossed her arms in a rebellious pose. “I don’t want to play piano. I want to learn to ride and shoot like Miss Maisie and her sisters.”
“Laurie Eberly plays, Anna, and enjoys it very much.”
“Humph. She’s the only one.”
While Mrs. Foster sighed, Marybeth ducked back out of sight and stifled a laugh. Oh, how she remembered the days of resisting Mam’s lessons. Now she wouldn’t trade her skill for the world. The memory of Rand’s approval when she’d spoken of wanting to play caused a little hiccough in her heart. To reward all of his kindness, she would find out which songs he liked best and play them for him at the first opportunity.
“Well, my dear,” Mrs. Foster said, “your brother insists that you learn, so let’s try to get through this, shall we?”
After heaving out a loud sigh, Anna resumed her hesitant playing just as someone knocked on the front door.
Marybeth stepped into the parlor. “Let me answer that for you.”
“Please do.” The widow nodded her appreciation even as she frowned at Anna.
The front door boasted an oval window with an exquisite etching of wildflowers. Through the glass, Marybeth could see a well-dressed young gentleman, bowler hat in hand, gazing off toward town as he waited to be admitted. When she opened the door, he turned her way, stepped back and blinked in surprise. He quickly regained his composure.
“Ah. You must be Miss O’Brien.” He gave her an elegant bow. “Welcome to our community. I am sure Randall Northam is happy at your safe arrival.” He reminded her of the businessmen she’d seen at church back in Boston. Like some of them, he possessed plain patrician features that became more attractive when he smiled. “Please forgive my forwardness. I am Nolan Means, and I have come to escort my sister home.”
It was Marybeth’s turn to lose her composure. This was the banker Rand had mentioned. Thank You, Lord! Before she blurted out her amazement, along with a plea for a situation in his bank, her schooling in deportment took control. “How do you do, Mr. Means? Please come in. Anna is a charming child, and I believe her lesson is almost complete.”
A sociable look lit his brown eyes as he entered the front hallway. “You have met her?” He chuckled. “How did she do today?”
Marybeth gave him a reserved smile. “I haven’t met her yet, only observed her. I do look forward to making her acquaintance.” How could she turn this conversation into a request to work at his bank? “She seems to be a delightful child who knows her own mind.”
He chuckled again. “That is my sister, all right. And you are gracious to say it that way. Her schoolteachers have never known quite what to do with her.”
The waltz ended with a poorly done arpeggio, and Mr. Means grimaced. “Am I wasting my money and Mrs. Foster’s time?” he whispered.
She shook her head and leaned toward him with a confidential air. “I resisted my lessons at first, but my mother’s persistence paid off in the end. Now I love to play. Give her a little more time.”
“Would you be so kind as to tell Anna that? Perhaps it would encourage her to continue.” He regarded Marybeth with a friendly gaze. “Are you a music teacher, too?”
She swallowed a giddy laugh. The Lord had surely arranged this opening. “Why, yes, but only as my second occupation. I recently completed secretarial training and hope to find employment.” His arched eyebrows foreshadowed the question she didn’t want to answer. “Rand and I haven’t set a wedding date, and I do want to keep busy.”
“Ah. I see.” His changing expression revealed myriad thoughts: surprise, speculation, perhaps even interest. Yet his brief intense look stirred no emotion within her as Rand’s had. In fact, she was relieved when his face took on a businesslike aspect. “Secretarial training, you say? Perhaps our meeting is fortuitous, Miss O’Brien. I have need of a new employee at my bank. Did you also study accounting?”
Somehow Marybeth managed to control her smile. “I did, sir.” She assumed the professional posture her teachers had taught her. “As well as typing.”
“Typing?” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This is indeed a fortuitous meeting. I have obtained one of those Remington Sholes and Glidden typewriters for sending out business correspondence, but I have not found anyone to hire who can manage a letter without errors. Perhaps you can help.”
She gave him a slight bow. “If you’re speaking of the improved 1878 model, I learned on that very machine.”
“Well, then, Miss O’Brien.” He reached out to shake her hand and she responded in kind. “If you will come to the bank at nine o’clock on Monday morning, we can discuss your employment. That is, if you are interested.”
“Nolly!” Anna dashed into the front hall and flung her arms around her brother’s waist. “Oh, do say I don’t have to take lessons anymore.” The sob that accompanied her plea sounded a bit artificial to Marybeth.
Wringing her hands, Mrs. Foster appeared behind her student. In that moment Marybeth realized the dear lady needed the income from these lessons. Losing a student might create a serious problem for her. All the more reason for her to secure the job at the bank so she could pay for her room and board. She could not remain this dear lady’s guest forever.
“Now, now, Anna.” To his credit, Mr. Means seemed not to notice Mrs. Foster’s anxiety. Nor did he appear embarrassed by his sister’s behavior. “We will talk about it later.” He questioned Marybeth with one arched eyebrow. “As well as what you and I discussed, Miss O’Brien?”
She returned a nod, assuming he meant both Anna’s lessons and the situation at the bank. Even if he decided she wouldn’t do for the job, she would be glad to encourage the child to continue. That would be a small repayment to Mrs. Foster for her hospitality.
They took their leave and Marybeth turned to her hostess. “May I help you prepare supper?” She must keep busy until Monday to make the time pass quickly.
Mrs. Foster appeared to have recovered from her alarm, for she gave Marybeth a bemused look. “Nolan seems quite taken with you.”
Marybeth coughed out a nervous laugh. She’d thought her demeanor was entirely proper. “Oh, I certainly hope not.”
Mrs. Foster seemed satisfied with her answer. “Very well. Shall we get busy with supper? I thought chicken and dumplings would be nice.” She beckoned to Marybeth then proceeded down the center hallway.
“That sounds wonderful.” Grinning to herself, Marybeth complied. She couldn’t wait to tell Rand about having the same supper dish Miss Pam had served them for dinner. The cooking rivalry between these two ladies clearly amused him, but following his example, she would praise her hostess’s dish as nothing short of perfection.
Why had she so quickly thought of sharing such a thing with Rand? Perhaps because he’d been in her thoughts since last January and she’d often practiced what she would talk about with him. Even though she’d been uncertain about the marriage, she’d looked forward to making his acquaintance, perhaps even gaining his friendship. Now that she knew his true character, those goals seemed less appealing. What would he say when she told him she had found a job? What would he do?
* * *
