KeepingFaithCole (21 page)

“What about the stallion?”

“Damn, what I wouldn’t give for a horse like that.” He pushed
his flat-brimmed hat back on his head. Catching the mares would be fairly
simple, but capturing a wild stallion…well, no point even thinking about it.

“So, boss, what we do next?”

“Boss? Is that what you called me?” Tom turned toward the
short man, unsure he’d heard right. In his day, he’d been called a lot of
things, but never
boss
. He grinned.
It had a nice ring to it. He squared his shoulders, stood a little straighter,
and maybe his voice had a little more authority to it when he spoke next. “We’ve
found the route they travel, so that’s going to make our job a lot easier.”

“I’m listening.”

Tom settled back, explaining the particulars of bringing in
a wild herd. Normally rounding up mustangs required several days of hard riding
and the services of a half-dozen strong cowboys. But he and Goose weren’t
planning to bring them in by the thousands. They had their sights set on only
one very small band. “We’ll have to do some preliminaries. We can cut some
timber, use it to block off that narrow gap. We’ll need to construct a couple
corrals, too.”

“Sounds like work, boss.”

There it was again. Boss. Tom’s grin broadened. “So, you
thinking maybe you’d like to come to work for me? I could use a good hand, once
I get the place set up.”

“Yeah, boss. I’m your man.”

“All right. Let’s get started.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

They made their way down into the valley, and for the next
few hours, they worked together, cutting timber, dragging it across the earth
and filling in the narrow gap at the western edge. The plan had come quickly
once Tom had seen the lay of the land. It would be simple enough to get behind
the herd and drive the little band of mares right into the trap. Almost too
simple.

* * *
*

Only two days remained before the wedding. All the
arrangements had been made, and
 
Lucille’s gown was nearly finished. Eager to complete it, she arrived at
the shop shortly after dawn. She’d hardly slept the previous night. Each time
she closed her eyes the dreams came, dreams filled with Tom. Many of her
earlier doubts had returned. She’d always believed that men and women should
only marry for love, but, of course, that wasn’t practical most of the time.
She and Tom wed because of Faith, and that was reason enough, even if the idea
of becoming the cowboy’s wife thoroughly rattled her.

Trying to take her mind off Tom and her upcoming nuptials,
she turned her attention instead to the shop. Charlotte had not kept up with
her assigned chores. With a sigh, Lucille grabbed a feather duster. She
wouldn’t complain, wouldn’t castigate the woman. After all, they would soon be
family.

She’d nearly finished both the dusting and the sweeping when
Charlotte came through the door.

“You’re here awfully early, Miss McIntyre.” As she removed
her coat, Charlotte kept her gaze fastened on Lucille.

“I haven’t been sleeping very well.”

Charlotte hung her wrap on a peg, then took a step toward
Lucille. “You’re looking a bit peaked. Are you all right?”

The question took her by surprise. Tom’s mother had made her
dislike clear, but maybe she’d finally come around. Knowing that they would
soon be family might have softened the women’s attitude somewhat. Lucille
appreciated the unexpected change in attitude. Perhaps she should be more
courteous, as well.

“Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking.”

Charlotte crossed the shop, pushed back the wooden shutters,
then hung the cheery
Open for Business
sign,
declaring the official start of the day. Her eyes went once again to Lucille.
“Are you sure you’re well enough to work today? If you need to go home, I can
take over here.” Her face reddened. “I can’t sew like you do, but I can do
mending, and as for the rest of it, I could take orders, write up names and
addresses, that sort of thing. I really wish you’d let me help out more.”

“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Had she replied a bit too quickly? Had her voice been a bit
too sharp, too curt? Judging from the hurt expression on Charlotte’s face, her
words had wounded. Probably she should apologize. For some reason, though, the
apology wouldn’t come.

She shrugged. “Like I said, I haven’t been sleeping well,
that’s all.”

“Thinking about my boy, I suppose. Thinking about your
wedding.”

“Yes.”

“Now, don’t you fret. He’ll take good care of you.”

“I know.” Lucille rubbed her temples and nodded. “He’s a
good man.” Indeed, he was, and he’d be a good husband. A good father for Faith,
too. She looked up and smiled. “How about a cup of coffee?” She motioned for
Charlotte to follow through the office to the tiny kitchen at the back. “Maybe
it’s time you and I got to know each other a little better.”

“Maybe so.”

When they reached the kitchen, Charlotte placed a hand on
Lucille’s shoulder, stopping her from entering. “Let me fix it. It’s the least
I can do.” She smiled and gestured toward the table. “I doubt any ladies will
be out shopping so early. Besides, if a customer comes in, we’ll hear the bell.
Sit down and relax a little.”

Moments later, carrying two cups of freshly-brewed coffee,
she joined Lucille at the table.

“Thank you, Charlotte. It’s nice of you to do this.”

“You’re welcome.” She settled herself into a chair across
from Lucille. “We didn’t get off to a very good start, did we? We can change
things now, don’t you think? We can learn to like each other.”

“Of course.” Heat rose to Lucille’s cheeks. “But please,
don’t think I ever disliked you. It was just difficult at first…having someone
else working here.”

The now-familiar bark of laughter shot from the woman’s
throat. “Don’t go thinking you can hedge the truth with me, honey. You hated me
when I first came to town, and it’s all right.” She leaned forward. “I hated
you, too.”

They laughed together. Lucille picked up her cup and clasped
her hands around it, grateful for its comforting warmth. As she sipped the
soothing brew, her taut nerves gradually loosened. Who knew what the future
might hold, what possibilities might await her? Someday she might come to hold
Charlotte Henderson as dear as her own mother.

And Tom? The mere thought of him made her blush, especially
when she thought of what being his wife could mean. When they’d agreed to
marry, they hadn’t talked about intimacy and what role, if any, it would play
in their lives, but surely, he would expect to have marital relations. She
licked her lips.

“I’ve always heard brides-to-be got the jitters before their
wedding day.” Charlotte stared down at her hands, holding the cup between them.
“I never had the chance to find out myself. You know Tom was born out of
wedlock.” She lowered her gaze. “I’ve never even been in love.”

“Not even when you were a young girl?”

Charlotte looked up, but her eyes seemed dull, almost
lifeless. “I didn’t have a very happy childhood. I didn’t have any opportunity
for a social life. I never had any real friends.”

Be quiet. Don’t
push.

What had Tom said? His mother refused to speak of the past,
he’d warned. Lucille worried that she might have ventured too far into
dangerous territory.

She quickly rose. “I’d better get busy. I have several
orders to finish,” she said, doing her best to put a lilt in her voice.

Throughout the morning, Lucille kept busy, indeed. The
little shop was soon filled with laughter, good wishes, and excited chatter as
ladies of all ages stopped by to visit. Some even ordered dresses or dropped
off garments to be mended.

She smiled brightly, accepted the good wishes of her
friends, and blushed at a few suggestive remarks. Yet she couldn’t shake off an
uneasy feeling. Must be wedding jitters, sure enough.

When the last lady left late in the afternoon and the shop
was quiet again, Lucille returned to her work. The day’s activities had put her
a bit behind schedule. She stitched quickly, hoping to finish sewing the
ruffles on the dress Kat Barron had ordered.

Kat…wearing ruffled dresses! The thought brought a smile to
Lucille’s face. Love could be a powerful force for good. It could change a
woman’s life in so many ways.

“Did you say you’d ordered a bit of Irish lace?” The voice
drew Lucille back to the moment. Charlotte stood before the notions counter,
running a long, knobby finger over a spool of thread. “I was thinking maybe I
could trim the collar on my blue dress, make it fancy enough to wear to the
wedding.” A delicate blush of color rose to her cheeks. “I know it’s probably
terribly expensive, but could you take the cost out of my pay?” She sounded
almost like a child, her voice wistful, pleading. “You know, it’s been a very
long time since I’ve set foot in a church, but I suppose I can do it for Tommy.
Never thought I’d see the day when my son settled down.” She stroked the thread
again. “Anyway, that blue dress is the best I’ve got, but it’s awfully plain. I
was hoping I could find a way to make it a little prettier.”

“A shipment of lace came in a few days ago,” Lucille said.
“I had the delivery man put it on the shelf for me.” She gestured toward the
tiny storeroom, all but hidden away behind a heavy door. “If you’ll get the box
down, I’ll measure out enough for a collar. Maybe we could even add a bit of
trim to the sleeves.” At the ill-concealed look of dismay on Charlotte’s face,
she quickly added, “You don’t have to pay for it. Consider it a gift from me.”

Giving goods away wasn’t going to help her financial
situation but might stand her in good stead with her future mother-in-law.

Charlotte’s smile held a hint of embarrassment, but she
merely nodded, and hurried toward the storeroom. She carefully propped open the
door before setting foot inside. Moments later, she returned.

“What shelf is that box on?”

“I don’t know.” Lucille had picked up her sewing again. She
didn’t like being interrupted while she worked. “You’ll have to look,
Charlotte. The boxes are all marked.”

Moments later, Charlotte came out again—still empty-handed.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t find them. Are you sure the lace
came in?”

Lucille threw down her sewing and got to her feet. Her heavy
steps echoed as she marched across the little shop. She yanked the door open
and gestured for Charlotte to step aside.

“All the laces are right
here. I keep everything in order. I don’t know why you can’t find the right
box.” Agitated by the woman’s incompetence, Lucille stepped into the little
storeroom and reached toward one of the upper shelves. When the heavy oaken
door swung closed behind her, she let out a gasp. In her annoyance, she must
have kicked away the door stop.

Click
!

Lucille groaned. She should
have asked Tom to look at the broken latch. The next time he came to the shop,
she’d point it out to him and have him fix it.

“Charlotte,” she called.
“Open the door, please.” Grabbing the handle, Lucille pulled as hard as she
could. The door didn’t budge an inch. “Charlotte,” she called again, shouting
to make her voice heard through the thick walls. “I’m locked inside here! Let
me out.”

She could hear a commotion going on in the shop, but she
couldn’t figure out quite what was happening. Lucille frowned. If she could
hear Charlotte bustling about, surely Charlotte could hear
her
as well.

“Charlotte? What’s going on? Where are you?”

Lucille’s nose twitched. Her eyes suddenly began to burn.
She closed them as the unmistakable smell of smoke—sharp, acrid, and stinging—crept
in around her.

Dear Lord, the
shop is on fire!

Lucille fought back panic. Her heart raced; her mouth went
dry. Desperate to escape, she beat her fists against the door, pounding until
her hands ached. Tiny slivers of oak broke away to embed themselves in her
ragged, bleeding flesh.

There must be a way out! A frantic glance around the cramped
space only confirmed her worst fears—she was trapped like an animal in a cage,
locked away in the storeroom of her own little shop.

“Charlotte, please!” She clawed at the edge of the door then
ran her fingers over the metal hinges. “Charlotte!” she called again, but no
answer came. “For God’s sake, Charlotte, help me!” Struggling for breath, she
barely managed to choke out the last words as the awful truth hit her.

She was going to die.

She knew it as surely as she knew the color of the deep blue
Colorado skies or the beauty of the snow-capped mountains.

Had Joe Love’s curse struck again? Lucille scoffed as that
thought crossed her mind. This had nothing to do with the outlaw. It had
everything to do with Charlotte Henderson. Without a doubt, she was to blame.

Lucille sagged against the door. She’d once heard it said
that at the moment of death, people saw the entirety of their lives flash
before their eyes. She closed hers, and at once, visions came. Images of her
father played inside her head, along with memories of her mother, and sweet
thoughts of Faith. Blue-eyed apparitions of Tom floated through her mind, his
dimpled cheeks and enticing smile too painful to bear. A sorrowful wail tore
from her throat. Life had promised so much joy, so much happiness. Now, all of
it had been taken from her.