Authors: Penny Richards
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 brotherâand Marybethâout of trouble.
Chapter Three
H
alting, 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?
* * *
Guilt and nervousness vied for control of Rand's thoughts as he drove toward town. Nate and Tolley had insisted they would take care of today's chores, but he still felt responsible for doing his share. It was all Susanna's fault. She and Nate were staying in the big house while his parents and sister were back East, and his sweet little sister-in-law had wheedled the truth out of him about Marybeth's reticence to marry right away. She'd insisted he must get busy courting.
“If Lizzy were feeling better, I'd say bring Marybeth out here today,” she'd told him over breakfast. Rand's two-year-old niece had come down with a cold and had clung to her mother while she ate. “First thing next week, you have to do that.” She'd encouraged her fussy baby to take a bite of toast, but Lizzy had refused. “How about a picnic? Today isn't too soon. Nate and I went on a picnic my second day here. His courage in facing down those Indians made him a hero in my eyes and went a long way toward winning my heart.”
Nate had beamed at his bride's praise as he'd nudged Rand's arm. “Go ahead, brother. Rita can pack a basket while you get old Sam hitched up to the buggy. You can drive into town and surprise Marybeth. Ladies like to be surprised, don't they, sweetheart?”
Susanna had batted her eyelashes at Nate as if they were still courting. Rand admitted to himself that he'd like to have Marybeth look at him that way. Seated across the table, Tolley had just groaned.
“
SÃ
, Senor Rand.” Rita, the family cook, had a little courting going on herself with one of the cowhands. “I'll have everything ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Well,” Rand had drawled, still uncertain. “I did promise Marybeth a hike in the mountains.” He'd stirred a bite of griddlecake into a puddle of syrup on his plate. “I also promised we'd have a chaperone.”
All eyes had turned toward Tolley, who'd shoved back from the table, shaking his head. “No, sir. Not me. I've got all those chores to do, yours and mine. Got cows to milk, stalls to muck out, mustangs to break, fences to check and a whole bunch of other stuff.” He'd stood and started toward the door like a scared rabbit. “Helping with her trunk was one thing, but I refuse to play duenna while you two make eyes at each other. Find somebody else.”
“But you'd look so purty in a lace mantilla,” Nate had quipped.
Rita had giggled and Susanna had laughed. Tolley's response was to slam the back door on his way out.
Bouncing Lizzy on her lap, Susanna had said, “Why not stop by Maisie and John's and invite them along?”
So now Rand drove old Sam toward town with a large, well-packed picnic basket secured to the back of the buggy and a prayer in his heart that Doc and Maisie would be free today. If they weren't, maybe Mrs. Foster would go. Of course that would mean they couldn't go hiking because it would be too hard on the older lady, but they could go up to a meadow by the river. He couldn't decide which chaperone he preferred. Having either one hear his every word would only add to his nervousness as he tried to become better acquainted with Marybeth.
As if that wasn't enough indecision for a man to have, he also had to figure out what to tell her about Hardison. While Nate had advised him not to worry her with the gunslinger's threats, Tolley thought she ought to know what the man had said in regard to her. Rand usually took his cautious older brother's advice, and yet he couldn't entirely dismiss the idea that she should be on the lookout for danger. As peaceful as the Esperanza community was, as caring the folks were about one another, there was always a chance of getting bit by a sneaky snake in the grass.