He squeezed her hand and winked. Belinda huffed. Randi
chose to ignore it and rolled her hand to fit more snuggly in
his. When she knew her stepmother was about to make
another snide remark, she pulled her gaze from her
husband's and turned to her father.
"How was your trip to the Badlands?"
Her father, usually very composed, sputtered into the glass
of rum held against his lip. After swallowing a couple times,
he answered, "Fine." He set the glass down, cleared his
throat, and blinked his watery eyes. "Just fine. Steven and his
wife, Lila, are remarkable people. And their home is quite
lovely." Glancing to Belinda, he added, "Isn't it, dear?"
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"Hmm, a bit unusual, but nice nonetheless," Belinda
replied as if not really interested. Her eyes, darkly rimmed
with kohl, had been roaming Howard ever since they'd
arrived.
They sat at a square table, one person per side. All of a
sudden Randi had a strong urge to make Howard switch seats
with her to put more space between him and her stepmother.
The sensation was odd, but very strong. As if he read her
mind, he did, very discreetly, scoot his chair her way a touch.
Belinda, of course, noticed and settled a disgruntled stare
Randi's way.
She let her happy grin remain on her face, it actually had
increased a mite by his actions. Well, that and the fact
Howard loved her. The knowledge was enough to make her
capable of conquering the world. Slowly, she turned away
from Belinda, back to her father. She didn't want to just blurt
out her decision and thought after a touch more small talk
she'd ease into the subject of donations.
"And their children? Ma—I mean, Stephanie says they're
very delightful."
"Oh, yes, yes they are quite delightful." Her father set his
glass down. "The little girl," his glance once again went to
Belinda, "what's her name, dear?"
"Kendra," Howard supplied.
"Yes." Belinda laid her hand on Howard's arm resting on
the table. "Yes, Kendra. Such an unusual name. Don't you
think?"
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He removed his arm, settled his hand on his leg under the
table. "No, I don't think it's unusual at all. It was Lila's
mother's name."
Randi kept smiling, delighted. She knew she was being
spiteful, but Belinda had been rather nasty over the years and
seeing the woman rebuked for once in her life was rather
delightful. Or maybe she was just so cheerful everything
about the night was enjoyable and knowing what would
happen when they returned to their apartment was the most
pleasing thought of all.
"Yes, Kendra, that's it," her father continued as if nothing
had interrupted his report. "She already rides a horse, all by
herself. And is very good."
Howard let out a low laugh. "I can believe that. Skeeter's
had her on the horse with him almost since the day she was
born."
Randi found herself wondering what kind of father Howard
would be and instantly decided he'd be a wonderful parent.
He'd been so kind and caring to her since the moment they
met, he'd surely be just as loving to their children. While
Howard and her father conversed about Skeeter's family, her
mind took a different path. She marveled at how contently
she looked toward the future, a future she knew she'd have
with her husband. It wasn't just because she felt safe and
cared for, but because it was what she desired above all
else—a life with him—forevermore.
"I'd prefer not to discuss politics over dinner," Howard's
statement yanked her back to the conversation. Randi held
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her breath, wondering what she'd missed. Had her father
asked for money? Her knees began to shake.
Belinda let out a snide chuckle. "I'm afraid, Howard, that is
quite impossible. Politics is all Thurston knows how to discuss.
After all, he's been in politics for years, he knows what
Kansas needs, and it is his foremost ambition to become the
next governor."
Howard leaned back, giving the waiter room to set a
dinner plate, piled high with a large beef steak and fried
potatoes, in front of him.
"Thank you," he said to the young man wearing a white
apron splattered with grease spots. Making no comment to
acknowledge he'd heard Belinda, he lifted his silverware and
waited for everyone else to be served before slicing into his
meat.
Randi held in the shiver rippling her shoulders. She could
all but see thick tension oozing off Howard. Why hadn't she
been listening? How much had her father asked for? After
glancing around the table, she followed suit, cut into her food,
and tried to focus on the meal. The outside crust of the beef
was charred stiff, and the inside seeped red juice. The food at
their restaurant would be considerably better, she silently
vowed as she raised her fork to her mouth. The meat was as
tough as it looked and needed to be chewed an extended
amount of time before she could swallow.
Evidently, every steak was tough because silence filled the
table as everyone chewed. It was several minutes before her
father took a sip of his drink.
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"Howard, er, Mr. Quinter, I would think you'd be very
interested in what's happening right now, especially with your
new hotel."
Howard didn't respond, just cut another slice off his steak.
Her father continued, "If the current legislatures have their
way, they'll be hitting you with a hefty tax bill. Now, the
Populist Party, we believe in a graduated income tax. With
our system you'd be allowed to keep a much larger portion of
the income your establishment takes in."
Randi glanced to Howard. Her fork paused near her lips.
He'd quit chewing, and the veins in his neck pulsated. She
squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, readying
herself to stand up to her father and his request. But Howard
spoke first.
"Mr. Fulton," he said, not pleasant in any way as he laid
down his fork and met her father's gaze with a solid, deep
stare. "If you are unable to refrain from talking politics, I'm
afraid, my wife and I will need to leave."
"Well, now that's just silly," Belinda said, once again
reaching over to lay her hand on Howard's arm.
He pulled it away. This time a crystal clear understanding
he didn't welcome her touch, but his gaze never left her
father's. Randi laid her fork across her plate, a chunk of meat
still stuck in its tines, and wondered if she glanced up if she'd
see a storm cloud hovering over the table.
"No, no dear, that's not silly," her father finally said. "If H-
Mr. Quinter doesn't wish to discuss politics, we won't discuss
politics." He waved his fork around the table. "Please,
everyone, eat your food before it grows cold."
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The silence was as thick as the meat and just as charred.
A clink of a fork, or thud of a glass being set down were the
only sounds as the meal was consumed. Everyone's plate,
minus Belinda's who'd ate as if nothing was amiss, held a
large portion of their meal still sitting on them when the
waiter removed the dishes from the table. Howard thanked
the man for the meal, though Randi knew it was half-hearted
and didn't have anything to do with the poor cooking.
Her father drew two cheroots from his breast pocket,
offered one to Howard. He politely declined, which she was
thankful for, having never liked the smell of the cigars. She
reached over and laid a hand on Howard's.
He met her gaze, and then turned to her father. "I hope
you will excuse us now, we need to get back to the hotel."
"So soon? I thought perhaps we could visit a while." Her
father's gaze never roamed to her. "I really think you'd be
interested in my reform package."
Howard pushed his chair away from the table and reached
into his breast pocket. After laying several bills on the table,
he stood and pulled her chair back.
"No, we need to leave now."
Randi rose and bowed her head in farewell. Her husband,
who was normally so relaxed and friendly, was stiff and
uptight, clearly very upset. As they walked through the dining
room, she noticed all the eyes following them and
immediately knew the churning in her stomach had nothing to
do with the meal. It was as if a storm cloud hovered over the
entire room.
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Anxious, she all but bolted out the front door when Howard
pushed it open. Randi took a deep breath, tried to chase away
the heaviness in her chest. She'd apologize for her father's
behavior as soon as they were alone. A short square man
with a printer's cap and pen and paper in hand stopped them
not two steps out the door.
"Mr. Quinter," the man began. "My name is Carl
Robertson. I'm with the
Ford County Globe
."
"I know who you are," Howard answered stiffly.
"Could you answer a few questions?" Carl Robertson
asked, licking on the tip of his stubby pencil.
"No." Howard grabbed her elbow.
Randi double stepped, trying to keep up with Howard's
long strides as Mr. Robertson followed at a quick pace behind
them.
"Mr. Quinter, how long have you been acquainted with
Thurston Fulton?"
Randi glanced over her shoulder, then back to Howard,
now almost running to keep up with him. Chin thrust forward
and lips pinched tight together, Howard continued to pull her
down the road.
After a few more attempts, Mr. Robertson gave up and
turned around, making a beeline back to the Dodge House.
Randi didn't comment, couldn't really since she was almost
breathless. It wasn't until they came to the front of their hotel
that Howard slowed his pace. A loud, ragged sigh left his
chest before he led her across the front lawn.
Once they entered their rooms, Randi drew her own sigh of
relief and turned to face her husband.
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"I am so sorry."
He glanced up.
"I wasn't listening. I'm sorry for that too." She bowed her
head. "How much did he ask for?"
"What? Ask me for what?"
"Money. How much money did my father ask you to give
him?"
He frowned.
She stepped closer, rested her hands on his jacket lapels.
"Please believe me when I say I didn't have anything to do
with it. Please."
His hesitation let her know he struggled, tried to figure out
what to say.
She stepped back, shrugged at the anxiety covering her
shoulders. "I didn't think he'd asked you for it in the middle of
dinner."
His frown grew deeper as he met her gaze.
"I thought I had time, I thought..." She huffed out air, not
really sure what she thought.
Howard's head shook with an odd movement, like he
checked his hearing.
"I didn't know Edward Keyes had paid to marry me. I
didn't know things like that happen." She turned her back on
him and continued, "I'm afraid I don't know much about
politics and such. I lived my whole life on the farm, and
Mama, well, she didn't like to talk about my father, so we
didn't. After she died, I moved to Topeka." She shrugged
again, knowing she had to tell him the truth. "I was only
there for a few weeks before I left. When he told you I was a
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hostess for his parties, he lied. I've never attended a political
gathering of any kind."
"You didn't know...you haven't—"
"Well, I'm not completely ignorant." She spun around,
interrupting him. Attempting to make herself sound a mite
more intelligent, she added, "I mean I read some things, I
know some things about our government. And I can learn
more. I can read very well." She turned about, unable to face
him. "I've just never been interested in politics. I'm sorry if
that's a disappointment to you."
He flipped her around. "Your father sold you?"
She blinked, thought about it for a minute. "Well, I guess
you could say that. But I ran away before I married him." Ice-
cold pin-pricks tickled her shoulders. "He was a creepy old
man."
"So now your father expects me to pay him the same
amount?"
"I don't know the amount. But Belinda said I had to get a
donation from you to make up for—"
He held up one hand. "When? When were you told to get
this donation?"
"When they left for your brother's," she answered, staring
at her toes, unable to meet his steely gaze.
"You haven't asked me for any money," he said.
She twirled about again and wiped at the tears trickling
down her cheeks. If she tried to talk, she'd most likely sob