A deep scowl covered his face. "No. No, I don't think I like
that idea."
She bit her lips together, wished she could think of
something to say.
He let out a deep breath. It hung in the air like an ominous
buzz. After a few moments, he scratched his head and said,
"No, that won't do at all." The next instant, he slapped his
hands on his knees and then stood, stretching one of his
hands toward her.
She glanced between the large hand and his face.
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He wiggled his fingers. "Come on. Whether we like it or
not, we're married."
"But what are we going to do?" She laid her hand in his. It
was so large, warm, and comforting, she almost wanted to
cry. Instead, she stood.
"I guess we'll just have to play it by ear." He tugged her
toward the door.
"Play it by ear?" She stumbled and sucked in a gulp of air.
The bottoms of her feet hurt from her late night escape,
stung as if she'd stepped in a pile of broken glass.
He steadied her by grasping her other elbow. His gaze
landed on her toes. "No shoes either?"
She curled her toes, tried to tuck them beneath the hem of
the britches. "They're—"
"At Danny J's," he finished.
She nodded, but didn't lift her eyes, kept them locked on
the top button of his tan-colored shirt.
The tip of one of his fingers slid beneath her chin and lifted
her face. "I'll send one of my brothers down to get your
things."
She would have spoken, but for some reason a thick lump
had formed in her throat. Tears threatened to spill from her
eyes.
His hand moved to pat her back, and his chin settled on
the top her head. "None of that now. There's nothing to be
afraid of."
How did he know fear stirred in her stomach?
"Randi?" He leaned back, looking down at her.
"What?" The word barely squeaked out.
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"I know you don't know me from Adam, but let me assure
you, as long as I'm near, you have nothing to fear. Not from
your father, not from Belinda, not from anyone. I won't let
anyone hurt you. I promise."
His promise made a wave of something she couldn't quite
explain flow over her body. It was warm and soothing, like a
warm cup of sweet tea in the depth of winter.
She glanced up, meeting his kind gaze. Quelling an instant
river of grief tumbling across her stomach, she nodded,
hoping he believed she understood. Problem was
he
didn't
understand. Nobody did. Her father and Belinda never hurt
her on the outside, never did things people could see. The
injuries they inflicted were on the inside, where it really hurt.
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Howard pulled the flap open and held it aside for Randi to
step out. The sun, high in the sky, instantly reminded him
how much of the day had slipped by. At least his brothers had
been busy. Two other tents had been erected and several of
the men he'd hired last week were busy sawing lumber into
the pre-measured dimensions he'd left for them.
A cold chill raced across his shoulders when he noticed
Randi's father, step-mother, and aunt sitting at a table
outside the tent set up for Ma. A fire pit, already aflame,
hosted a tripod. He couldn't hear the words, but saw his
mother's animated body language as she filled large tin cups
from her tattered old pot.
"Damn, when it rains it pours," he muttered.
"Excuse me?" Randi asked.
"Nothing. Just thinking aloud, I guess."
"Oh." Randi's gaze followed his and settled on the unusual
tea party. He could only imagine what she thought but had to
believe it was close to the dread swimming around in his
guts.
"Ready?" he asked, looking down and trying to read what
was behind her frowning stare.
She swallowed and took a deep breath. "I guess I'm as
ready as I'll ever be."
He fell into step beside her, steering her toward the group
with the arm settled around her shoulders as if it was born to
be there. She certainly was a dainty little thing and so damn
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pretty. He had to be thankful for that. The women in Dodge
weren't always known for their looks. Plenty of the gals in the
dancehalls didn't have enough teeth left to shake a stick at. If
Ma had to marry him off to one, at least Randi wasn't hard to
look at. He frowned, agitated by his own thoughts. A wife was
the last thing he needed. Why couldn't he have a normal
family? And why did his mother have to marry her sons off
like some kind of overzealous father with a parlor full of girls?
Randi's steps faltered, his arm tightened to lead their stroll
around a batch of green leaves that were sure to be full of
goatheads. Cautious of her bare feet, he picked a trail as safe
as possible. When she flinched for about the fourth time, he
stopped, scooped her up, and carried her the last few yards.
Justifying his actions by telling himself he had to get some
work done today and couldn't spend all day tiptoeing through
the weeds.
Setting her down on the canvas spread out in front of Ma's
tent, he turned to Corrine Martin. "I'm gonna send my brother
to get her stuff. Will you go with him to make sure he gets it
all? She can't walk around without any shoes."
The woman, whose bloomers were brighter than the
western sky, stood. "Oh, of course, Mr. Quinter." She glanced
between him and Randi for a moment before she took a step
forward and asked her niece, "Are you okay?"
Randi looked at him with big thoughtful eyes for a few
seconds before she turned back to her aunt. "Yes, yes, I'm
fine. You know where all my things are?"
"Yes," the aunt assured.
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Bug and Snake had made their way to the small gathering
as soon as he and Randi had started walking that way. Snake
stepped forward. "I'll go get her things."
Howard nodded his thanks before turning to Bug. "You got
the men started?"
"Yup, all under control."
"Good, I'll be over as soon as I can."
Bug glanced at the group, gave a slight nod. "All right." He
followed Snake and Corrine away from the campsite.
Howard pulled another chair closer to the one behind
Randi, waited for her to sit down before he took a seat. "Are
you hungry? Want some coffee?"
Her hands fidgeted in her lap. "No, no I'm fine, thank you."
He took the cup his mother held out. The contents were
hot, burned all the way down, but he needed the fortification.
He'd never faced off an angry father before and almost
wished he didn't hate Thurston Fulton so much already.
After the last swallow went down, he set the cup between
his feet and lifted his gaze to the man. "What was it you
needed to talk to my wife about?"
The coffee in the man's cup sloshed over the rim as he
pulled it from his lips. "Oh, well." He set the cup down on a
small table and wiped his hands on a white handkerchief
before he thrust one forward. "Mr. Quinter, I must say, it's a
pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Anger rolled in Howard's stomach. He leaned back in the
chair and crossed his arms over his chest. So Thurston Fulton
now knew he was one of the Quinter boys. He could almost
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see dollar signs in the man's eyes. His gaze went to his
mother.
A grin the size of Texas covered her face. She was proud
of her boys, had a right to be. His oldest brother, Kid, had
one of the most successful cattle ranches in the state, and his
brother, Skeeter, had become quite wealthy finding old bones
and other artifacts on his property out near the Kansas
Badlands. There wasn't a politician in the state who hadn't
tried to get their fingers into the Quinter's pocketbooks.
Some, Howard had to admit, were good, honest men, who
wanted what was best for the country overall, but it seemed—
to him anyway—that for the most part a large number of
politicians had their own agendas and didn't really care about
being a leader for the people they represented. In his mind,
Populists were at the top of that list.
"I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,"
Thurston Fulton said as his hand fell to his side.
"I don't believe I was on my feet," Howard said.
"Uh?"
He stared at the other man. From what he discerned,
Populists were little more than crooks who felt they got the
raw end of the deal when the North won almost twenty years
ago. These southern delinquents were still out for revenge.
The party's main plan seemed to be some kind of sub
treasury scheme, where the dollar was backed by silver
instead of gold. Unfortunately, in some cases, farther east
from his understanding, they were collecting support faster
than a squirrel gathers acorns, but their followers were mainly
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poor Missouri dirt farmers looking for aid anyway they could
get it.
"Oh, yes, on your feet. Yes, yes, it was a pun. I get it,"
Thurston Fulton said after several seconds of deep thought.
Howard squinted, forced himself not to rub at the throb
forming in his temples again. Damn, he never had headaches.
Yet that's what Thurston Fulton was—a God-damned walking
headache. And it appeared he was now his father-in-law.
Tension tugged at his spine, but he held the want to shake it
from his shoulders.
People often told him he was a man of few words. Howard
didn't know if he agreed with that or not, he just never found
too many people he wanted to talk to. He let the air pushing
on his lungs out in a long sigh. The act left him feeling
somewhat deflated.
"Well, let me say, my daughter has made an excellent
choice for a husband. I must apologize for my earlier
behavior. It wasn't until a short time ago when your mother
mentioned, well..." he paused briefly, then changed his trail
of words, "Well, that I realized how perfect you are for each
other." The man gestured across the lot, toward the building
site with one hand. "Your hotel—Randilynn will make the
perfect hostess. She has hosted many parties for me. During
the time her mother was ill, she handled all of the party
planning. And did an excellent job of it. Didn't she, Belinda?"
Thurston glanced toward his wife.
Howard noticed the black-haired Belinda was several years
younger than Fulton. Not that it mattered. Furthermore, the
amount of kohl around her eyes and the beet juice on her lips
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made her look like she should be one of Danny J's girls
instead of the wife of a man who hoped to become governor.
"Oh, yes, yes, my dear. Randilynn is the best hostess.
You're certainly lucky to have married her, Mr. Quinter."
Belinda's eyelids fluttered a mile a minute as she spoke, and
she wiggled one finger at him.
He felt like grunting in disgust. His gaze went to Randi.
Open mouthed, she stared at her father and step-mother with
a look of disbelief. When she noticed he watched, she bowed
her head and squirmed. Even her toes fidgeted. He laid a
hand over the fingers tugging the tails of his red and black
shirt. Her gaze lifted, moisture surrounded her eyes. The
sight made his lips tighten in anger. He turned back to her
father.
"I'll ask once again. What was it you wanted to talk to my
wife about?"
The man looked like a little weasel the way his tongue
darted out to wet his lips. His beady eyes danced to and fro
while his Adam's apple worked about in his neck.
A politician who didn't have a silver tongue, that had to be
a first.
"Mr. Quinter, I mean, Howard, I can call you Howard, can't
I?" Belinda leaned forward, placing a hand on his knee.
The touch sent a quiver up his leg. He pulled his leg aside,
forcing the hand to fall away. "Mr. Quinter is fine."
Belinda's eyes grew wide, clearly shocked by his rebuff.
"Oh, well, Mr. Quinter, perhaps you could show me around
your building site. I think Thurston and Randilynn would like
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some privacy. You know a heart to heart, father-daughter
talk."
Randi's hands quaked beneath his. He gave them a
reassuring squeeze and replied, "No."
Belinda's eyes bugged. "No? You won't show me around
your site?"
"No, I won't show you around the site. If you want to see
it, go ahead, just watch for snakes." The woman made his
skin crawl. And the way Randi shook like a leaf from head to
toe made his ire peak. Leaving her alone with Fulton would be