Jack’s left hand curled into a fist but he kept it tight against his thigh. The impulse to slug the banker on the chin made him see red, but not so red that he couldn’t at least give the man one more chance to come clean.
“Those deeds are no more yours than this beetle-infested tree is mine!” He slapped the tree trunk so hard the tree shook.
“Hey, watch that tree! My grandfather planted it when he founded Brown’s Point. I admit, it’s taken a while for it to grow but it’s a long way from Kansas.” He placed his hand on the tree trunk, then leaned his weight so he and the tree stood as one. “Transplants take time, Sterling. It might be stupid to some, but my family’s roots—and their transplants—mean a great deal to me. A very great deal. I’d appreciate it if you kept that in mind.”
Had he heard right? Was the Brown family from Kansas, too?
“Your grandfather brought the tree from Kansas?”
Brown nodded. “He did. Planted it with his own hands, said it was going to take root in this red dirt if he had to spoon-feed it himself to make it grow. My grandfather’s long gone, but the tree, and the town he founded, remain. My heritage means a lot to me, and I’ll expect you to respect that.”
“As does mine,” Jack countered. “And if you respected my heritage, I’d respect yours. But you haven’t bought the deed to my family’s home—you’ve stolen it. There’s no way I can leave this place without it. The way I see it, you can just hand it over and, being a Christian and not wanting unnecessary bloodshed, I’m willing to walk away. God knows, I’ve seen enough blood in my days to last a lifetime.”
His days of fighting Indians were behind him. He never wanted to take another man’s life, or harm him in any way, if he could help it.
“That’s mighty generous of you, Sterling, to offer not to fill my hide with shots. I appreciate the gesture, really I do, but the fact remains I have no intention of handing over what rightfully belongs to me.” Brown stared into Jack’s eyes, and Jack saw the same determination coursing through his veins reflected back at him from the depths of the other man’s eyes.
It was a stalemate, and they both saw it.
“It’s mine, I tell you.” Jack waved a fist in the air between them.
“And I tell you, the Kansas property is mine. Bought and paid for, and all mine,” Brown insisted.
“We’ll just see about that.”
“I guess we will, although I don’t see how you can say the place still belongs to you when, for starters, I’ve got the deed in my wall safe.” Brown lifted his shoulders, then let them drop, the motion so slow and deliberate it was an unspoken challenge.
Jack never turned from a challenge. He wasn’t about to start to do so now.
“The
stolen
deed.”
“I paid for that property, just like I did for all the rest of the Kansas properties I bought. I would think you’d be here to thank me, instead of to call me a liar and a thief. Really, Sterling, you should be shaking my hand and expressing bottomless gratitude.”
“You must stay out in the sun too long without your hat,” Jack sneered. “Why in blazes would I thank you for stealing my property?”
The banker shook his head, as if the whole conversation taxed him. “I keep telling you, I didn’t
steal
anything. Never have, never will. And frankly I’m getting tired of you saying that I am a thief. I’ve given you leeway on the point up until now but I don’t want to hear the insinuation again. Do you understand?”
Jack opened his mouth to speak, and would have called the other man a liar and a thief yet again but Brown held up a hand and went on.
“I paid good money for that property—real good money. Like I said, you should be thanking me for being so generous. I didn’t have to be, you know. But, as I keep telling you, I don’t make it my business to steal from anyone, so I was more than fair with the price offered on each and every one of those Kansas properties. And I can prove it.” Brown crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the tree trunk. A bead of perspiration slid down one cheek but that was the only indication he gave that he was in any way bothered by the heat.
Would be hard for a crook to look so cool under pressure.
“You say you can prove you ‘bought’ my place?”
Brown nodded. A self-satisfied smile played around the edges of his lips. “I can.”
“How?”
“The receipts for every purchase are in my safe, along with the deeds. I can prove I bought them all fair and square, and show how much I paid for them.”
The world tilted beneath his boot heels. Was it possible that there was a bill of sale for Granny’s place? And if there was, and the place had legitimately sold, where was the money?
More importantly—by far—were the questions flying through his mind faster than a runaway stallion. Was Granny Sterling losing her mind? Surely she couldn’t have forgotten she had sold the place…could she?
Chapter Thirteen
“Look! I did it! No one can say that this here ain’t—uh
, isn’t
—one beautiful French knot, can they, Kristen?” Geraldine, clad in a rose-colored wrap that matched her skin tone perfectly, looked up in triumph. Six or seven inches of embroidery thread—rose-colored, as well—hung from her lower lip. She carelessly blew it away, and held up her handiwork for the other women to inspect.
Kristen reached over, took the woman’s hoop from her hand and examined the pink knot. It was firm and tight, and close to the fabric without pulling the weave unevenly. The knot, one of the most difficult stitches to master, looked like it had been done by a professional.
She raised one eyebrow. “It is a perfect French knot. Geraldine, are you sure you’ve never worked a needle before? This doesn’t look like a beginner’s knot—not by any stretch of the imagination.”
Kristen handed the hoop back. The dancer had already begun to rethread her needle, this time with sky-blue floss, and seemed anxious to get her fingers working again.
When she had poked the needle into the fabric, Geraldine looked up and said, “Oh, I didn’t say I’d never worked a needle before, remember? I said I never tried any of this fancy stitchin’ you’re teaching us, that’s all. But, land sakes, I sure enough have held a needle more than I care to confess.” She held up the tiny silver sewing needle before her eyes, examined it, and then smiled broadly. With a shake of her curls, she stuck it back into her fabric and said, “But I never did see a needle this puny. No, never.”
Puny? The needle? It was a standard embroidery size. In fact, the needles Kristen had chosen for the beginners’ class had larger-than-customary eyes, so that they would be easier for unfamiliar fingers to hold.
Kristen sighed. She had never meant for the afternoon to drag on the way it had, with her being stuck indoors on such a beautiful day. But once she and Julia straightened out the mess in Julia’s hoop, Geraldine had woken and stuck her head in the parlor. Delight at the unexpected sewing lesson had made her dash upstairs for her embroidery. What had been a one-on-one session had turned into a full-blown sewing circle. Kristen saw no polite way to extricate herself from the affair.
“Just what kind of needle are you more familiar with?” Kristen patiently asked.
Grinning, Geraldine looked up from her needlework. She already had a row of blue French knots surrounding the first rose colored one, and Kristen saw the beginning of a free-style flower taking shape. The woman’s creativity was admirable, as was her ability to pick up embroidery so quickly.
“Why, the kind farmers use on livestock, of course! My daddy is a Mississippi farmer, remember? And since he and Momma only had girls, we all farmed right along with him. So I ain’t no stranger to a livestock needle, but that’s the only kind I ever held before this one. And, you’ve got to believe me when I say a livestock needle puts this little feller to shame.”
There were many things in life that aroused Kristen’s curiosity. Livestock needles? That was a question that was much, much better left unasked.
I don’t want to know…
Just as Kristen got a mind picture of what she thought a livestock needle might look like, Julia changed the subject. Thank goodness!
“There’s a new preacher in town. Hear tell he’s planning to start up Sunday services again over at the church.”
Kristen looked over at her friend, but Julia kept her head bent low over her embroidery.
“I came in on the same stage as Pastor Godsend. He’s a gentleman, and was excellent company on the long ride.” She leaned across the arm of her chair, and then smiled in satisfaction at the enchanting clusters of “petals” taking shape on Geraldine’s flower. She sat back, resting against her chair and watched the two women at their sewing. They had taken to the skill like ducks to water, and it did Kristen’s heart good to feel her presence in some small way impacted life in this rugged town. She went on, “He is, of course, incredibly knowledgeable about Scripture, but he’s got a number of other intriguing interests as well. We spoke at length about all sorts of things…”
“Ain’t he—uh, doesn’t he have a grandson?” Julia asked.
Geraldine’s curls bounced against her shoulders as she spun around and beamed a smile at Kristen. “A baby! How sweet! Why, you must have had a whole lot of fun taking turns holding the little feller, and bouncing him on your lap, cuddling him close and watching him sleep. Oh, I just love babies…Mamma always had a young one for us to coddle. I miss that, you know. Not many babies out here, not that I come in contact with, leastways.”
Julia stopped embroidering. She stuck her needle into the corner edge of her fabric, dropped the hoop onto her lap and sat back. Waving her hand before her reddened face, she said, “Mercy, it’s hot in here.”
No reply seemed in order, so Kristen just smiled. Geraldine was engrossed in her sewing and didn’t even look up from her fabric.
Julia had something on her mind, and wasted no time getting to the point.
“The preacher’s grandson isn’t a babe, is he?”
“No, he’s not.”
“He was—no, he is that handsome feller who came calling on you, isn’t he?” Julia’s fingers tightened on the arms of her chair, her interest in the topic clear.
“Yes, my gentleman caller was Patrick Godsend, Pastor Godsend’s grandson. You spoke briefly with him, didn’t you?”
With a long sigh and a gentle hum, Julia nodded. Her gaze was dreamy as she stared at the far corner of the room. “Mmm hmm…I sure did. Oh, what a fine speaker he is. Why, he never said one improper or impolite word! It was a true pleasure to have a word with him—even if the word was just a short one. My oh my, I wouldn’t mind getting a chance to get to know that feller a little bit better—”
Julia’s eyes widened, looking like half-dollar coins in her pretty face. Color rose in her cheeks as she whirled to face Kristen.
“I didn’t mean—I, uh, I just meant—it ain’t—no, it isn’t—oh! Why oh why don’t I know enough to keep my big mouth shut when it shouldn’t be open? My mama always said if anything got me in trouble it would be my mouth and by God she was right, wasn’t she? Oh, Kristen, I didn’t mean no disrespect or…” Julia’s words trailed off helplessly in the face of the laughter that greeted them.
Kristen waved away the dancer’s apology. “Stop it, you’re fine. Just fine, really. Your mother would be wrong in this case, my friend. You’re not in trouble, not by your mouth or anything else. Why, there’s no need to apologize for saying what’s on your mind. And what woman wouldn’t want the chance to spend time conversing with a polite, intelligent man—especially one who’s as handsome as Patrick?”
Julia’s brow creased. “You mean you don’t mind my being interested in the preacher’s grandson? But I thought he was interested in you. I could see it plainly in his face, that he holds you…that he, uh, that he…”
There was no stopping the mirth that bubbled to the surface, so Kristen didn’t try. Besides, it felt good to laugh.
Geraldine watched the exchange over her needlework with raised eyebrows and a big grin. She looked from one woman to the other, shaking her head so hard her thick, shiny curls bounced with each quick movement. The scent of the rosewater she used to rinse her hair filled the room. It made Kristen think, yet again, of her mother’s rose garden.
But laughter forestalled any homesick feelings she might have had otherwise. The confusion on Julia’s face made her laugh still harder, though she knew she shouldn’t. Since she had no romantic leanings whatsoever for Patrick, it seemed wholly ridiculous that anyone would ever imagine she did.
Finally she caught control of her funny bone. Kristen sucked in a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly. “You think I have an interest in Patrick, don’t you?”
Julia nodded.
“Well, put the notion right out of your head. I don’t have any interest in the man—other than as a friend, of course. He’s smart and kind, and good company, but we aren’t romantically involved.” There. That should put the other woman’s mind to rest.
It should have done so, but apparently it didn’t, because Julia asked, “But how could you not?”
“I just don’t fancy him in that way.” It seemed obvious, and logical, and the words slipped easily from her tongue.
“But he’s sweet on you. It was real clear when he asked for you at the door that he holds you in high regard.
Very
high regard. “
Julia pulled her needle through fabric with less attention than she had earlier. It was almost a given that the stitch would need to be pulled out, but Kristen kept quiet.
So many aspects of life were different here in the west. The whole concept of courting and romance seemed miles apart from what she was used to. However could she hope to find a husband when she so patently didn’t understand the rituals and rules associated with keeping company here?
She didn’t want to insult the other woman. It was clear Julia was very interested in Patrick and saw him as relationship-worthy. Still, she had to make it equally clear that he held no romantic attraction for her.
“I know that Patrick thinks he’s sweet on me, but that doesn’t mean we’re well suited for each other,” she explained with as much diplomacy as she could conjure on such short notice. “Just because a man likes a woman, it doesn’t mean she holds the same feelings for him, does it? I mean, you must have felt the admiring glances of many men, especially while you’re dancing in the show. It doesn’t mean you fancy every man who looks your way or smiles at you, does it?”