“Excitement. You mentioned excitement.”
“Oh. Yes, ma’am. Well, this ain’t exactly how I had planned this, but…” Reaching across the corner of the table, he took her free hand into his own bandaged fingers and gave her a beatific smile. “Miss Powell, will you do me the honor of becomin’ my wife?”
Crash. Gabe’s water glass, fortunately empty, fell from his nerveless grip. Crash. Bridget’s knife dropped heavily onto her plate. No damage done from either, other than stupefaction and noise.
“Mr.—Yancey—”
“Ahuh.”
Cecelia’s befuddled blue eyes gazed straight into John’s twinkling brown eyes. She blinked. “Well, I—uh—you do me a great honor, but I—”
“Oh, you can’t be tryin’ to fob me off with that old excuse,” he protested with vigor. “Here’s the deal, Miss Powell. From what I understand about your circumstances, you’re short an intended husband. Am I right?” he pleaded his case with the two remaining diners.
“To be sure,” agreed Bridget, bobbing her head.
“Yes to that,” agreed Gabe, bobbing his.
“And you need one soon. Well, that husband can be me.”
“Mr. Yancey, I hardly—”
“Here we go again. Look, strictly a business proposition, just what you’d want. We’ll get married and see how things go. Ain’t that fair?”
Cecelia felt as if she were being swept along on a runaway horse, with no way to escape. A glance at Gabe, who was smiling and nodding; a glance at Bridget, who was positively beaming with joy. “But I can’t let you—”
“Sure you can. I ain’t lookin’ for your money, Miss Powell. My job pays pretty well, and I have a nice hefty inheritance myself, from my mother’s side of the family. We’ll give it some time. Maybe six months or so, maybe a year. And if it hasn’t worked out by then, why, hell! We’ll just go our separate ways. Fair enough?”
“Your offer certainly sounds more than fair, Mr. Yancey, but I still—”
“We can work out any arrangements you like, Miss Powell. Set it in writin’, if that makes you feel better.”
“Damn it!” Flinging off his hand, Cecelia surged to her feet. “Will you at least let me finish a sentence?”
“Mr. Yancey,” Gabe interrupted at this point. “Son, this is a mighty big surprise to spring on a woman. She needs a little while to take it all in.”
“No, she doesn’t!” exclaimed Bridget, cheeks reddened by the thrill of the moment. “It’s so romantic. Oh, Miss Cecie, do say yes!”
Eyes widened, Cecelia looked from one opposing view to the other. “You advise me to marry this man, one I hardly know?”
Pushing back his chair, John rose as well, to meet her on level ground. “I’m a damn sight better catch than that yokel you chose first time around,” he assured her.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Frustrated by the interruption, Gabe threw down his napkin with an oath. “Don’t people spend time in their own homes anymore?” he grumbled. “Why the hell is everyone botherin’ everyone else at breakfast?”
“Mr. Finnegan.” Their housekeeper appeared from the hallway, expression muted and solemn. Almost apprehensive. “Sir, Sheriff William Goddard is here to see you.”
Gabe did a double take. “The sheriff?”
“And some other man. Younger.”
The flash of his glance across the room collided meaningfully with their visitor’s. “C’mon, John. I suspect you’re involved in whatever’s goin’ on. Let’s go see what the sheriff wants. Ladies?”
Cecelia was beginning to wonder if such unusual activity always followed John Yancey around like a shadow, trailing in his wake. “Of course. Bridget and I will both join you.”
The sheriff was standing in the middle of the parlor when they entered, rocking slowly back and forth on his booted heels in a way so many men have, surveying the pleasant room with appreciation. Sunny, cool, with fresh flowers and comfort abiding.
Noah Harper had sunk onto the nearest chair, only to spring immediately erect. “You!” he gasped.
“Sure enough seems to be me,” John agreed. “You’re lookin’ a little the worse for wear, Noah.”
“Why wouldn’t I be,” countered Noah bitterly, “when it’s you who’s responsible?”
Indeed, the ladies hesitated in the doorway, aghast by sight of the badly battered face, the missing side tooth, the scrapes and gashes from hairline to cravat.
“My, my, you’ve kinda got things mixed up, my friend. Musta been that terrible fall you took in the alley. Not far from The Nugget, wasn’t it? D’jou ever get hold of that girl you were plannin’ to be with, or did you manage to scare her away?”
Through his bruised and swollen lips, Noah issued a hiss of fury. “This is the one who attacked me, Sheriff. I want to press charges.”
“H’lo, John.” Goddard, apparently unperturbed by the man’s vitriol, was favoring the lovely young blonde woman with a smile. “Now I understand you bein’ in such a hurry to leave my company this mornin’.”
“Ahuh. Business.” But John was glaring at Noah, and Noah was glaring back at John, and the atmosphere suddenly felt as heavy and oppressive as if a violent thunderstorm were moving in.
“So what’s goin’ on here, Sheriff?” Gabe wanted to know. No niceties yet; no invitation to sit, no offer of refreshments. First get this matter, whatever it was, cleared up.
“Well, we started out with a little problem Mr. Harper reported t’me,” began Goddard, with a lift of one shoulder. “He’s complainin’ that Miss Powell has stolen some property from him, and he wants it back.”
“Noah.” John’s shift of a couple steps closer sent the complainant taking a couple steps away.
“We discussed this over drinks, remember? We realized you were all wrong, and you were goin’ to drop the issue.”
“Before you attacked me, you mean?”
“Oh, now, Noah. Why would I do that? You hired me t’come out here. You were my client. B’sides,” he shrugged; these men were all big on shrugging when nothing else would do, “it’s your word against mine that anything even happened.”
Noah shot a look at the sheriff, who spread his hands, palms out, in a defenseless gesture. “I’m afraid John is right, Mr. Harper. You file charges against him, he’ll file charges against you, and nothin’ goes anywhere.”
“So he gets away with nearly killing me!”
“Oh, not hardly,” John objected in a soft, silky voice. “If I really wanted to kill you, you’d’a been dead and buried already.”
Involuntarily Bridget giggled. She couldn’t wait to relate the story of this whole proceeding to Max; the drama was more interesting than the stage play they’d seen.
“Then what about my claim against Cecelia Powell?” demanded Noah. “What do you intend to do about that?”
“Not much,” Gabe cut in. “I have a copy of the will that bequeathed The Catherine Syndicate to Miss Powell, properly signed and witnessed. The document is locked in the safe at my law office, if you want to look it over, Will.”
“I’ll take this to court!” threatened Noah. “By Heaven, you must have legal proceedings here in this godforsaken back country, and judges to rule.”
“Well, now,” said the sheriff, ruminating, “there’s such a thing as professional courtesy, y’see. Me bein’ the law, and all, and Gabe bein’ a lawyer, and John here bein’ a Pinkerton man…Sorry, Mr. Harper, looks like you ain’t gonna get too far.”
“Tell you what, Noah, let’s go have us a nice little walk-and-talk outside, whaddya say?” suggested John in apparent good humor. “I made a promise t’you, last time we spoke, and I’d surely like doin’ my best to keep it.”
Furiously, futilely, Noah looked from one expressionless face to the other and read his fate. It was a lost cause, trying to recover what was never his to begin with, and now he would have to slink back to his mother with his tail between his legs. Another look searched out Cecelia, leaning silently and stolidly against the wall. Watching. Waiting.
“Goddamned little bitch,” he muttered. Grabbing his hat, he stalked away through the short hall.
“The King Neptune is leavin’ shortly, Harper,” John couldn’t resist calling after him. “I’ll be checkin’ to make sure you’re on it.”
The door slammed behind him. Hard.
William Goddard, hands on hips, stood gazing regretfully after him. “And now I s’pose he’s gone and taken the buggy back downtown,” he griped. “Oh, well, reckon the walk won’t do me any harm.” He reached out to shake first Gabe’s hand, then John’s. “Thanks for takin’ the time to get this straightened out, gentlemen. And I’m sorry we had to barge in like this. But I think that’s the last we’ll see of Mr. Noah Harper.”
Much relieved, Gabe chuckled. “I think you’re right, William. C’mon, let’s go have a cuppa coffee in the kitchen, and then I’ll hitch up the horse and give you a ride back. Bridge, honey—uh—why don’t you come and join us?”
“Be glad to, Uncle Gabe. It’s plain these two have more to talk about, and they’d prob’ly like to be alone, doin’ it.”
With everyone cleared out and the dust settled and the uproar subsided to a manageable size, Cecelia could exhale a huge sigh and relax her stiffened posture.
“You still thinkin’ it over?” John asked quietly into the deafening silence.
“Mr. Yancey—”
“John.”
“Uh. John. If we were to do this…
if
…what are the conditions?”
He approached, daring once more to clasp both her hands in his, bandage and all. “Only that I’ll do my best to make you happy and keep you safe.”
“What about working afterward? I still have my school, and I—”
“That’s mighty important t’you, Miss Powell. You keep right on a-teachin’, as long as you like.”
A narrow-eyed speculation, with lips pursed. Luscious lips, he noticed. Enticing lips. “And what about my financial affairs? Will you want to know where my money is, and how much I have?”
He tipped his head to one side, so that the overlong dark hair tumbled down over his forehead. The tumble begged for a light touch to brush it back. Cecelia’s light touch. “Gabe’s been helpin’ you, right? Then he can keep right on helpin’ you. Unless you ask me. I do,” he assured her modestly, “have a little financial expertise.”
“Will you be reminding me often of where I came from, or what my background was like?”
“What background, Miss Powell?”
“Cecelia,” she whispered.
“Then it’s yes?” His clasp tightened.
Feeling a little dizzy and overcome by the morning’s turmoil, she closed her eyes. “It’s yes,” she said faintly.
“Huh. Then I reckon we better get us some more coffee, Cecelia, my—Cecelia. We got arrangements to make.”
Cecelia discovered that a wedding can be planned, prepared for, and finalized in less than a month, after all, if it is a very simple wedding. Even a very simple double wedding.
Upon hearing that Bridget’s beloved Miss Cecie would be wed in the near future, Max went down on one knee. An overjoyed Bridget accepted the proposal without the least hesitation. The oddly matched couple—he burly and uncouth, some ten years her senior; she accustomed to the finer things in life, and still giggly and giddy as a young girl—presented themselves before the pastor of a small nearby church one fine late June afternoon.
With both dressed in glorious plumage of gold, purple, and green, they provided quite a contrast to their fellow participants. Cecelia was wearing a tasteful cream-colored muslin, with elbow sleeves and a light breezy skirt, while John had actually ordered the making of a new navy lightweight wool suit, just for this occasion.
Music and flowers, plenty of witnesses, and a florid Gabe, almost weeping with happiness for both his girls.
Busyness had not prevented the new couple from spending time together during the past few weeks, learning likes and dislikes, sharing banter, sharing laughter, sharing hopes and dreams and thoughts for the future. A picnic now and then, an occasional buggy ride, once even a dance in the Hotel Alexandria’s ballroom.
Even in a wild and wooly frontier town, however, decorum must be followed and propriety observed. Gabe wouldn’t go so far as to dictate the use of a chaperone for every outing, but he did demand strict adherence to certain rules: home by an early hour, curtains open and lamps lit in an occupied drawing room, a moratorium against any place considered unsuitable. Brief hand-holding was acceptable, or the grasp of an elbow for navigation over unstable terrain. Any physical contact other than these would never be appropriate. Gabe had firmly laid down the law to both young ladies.
Thanks to Josiah Kingsley and Noah Harper, both degenerates, Cecelia’s reputation had come near to ending up in shreds. Gabe was determined that wouldn’t happen again. Not ever. Once he had her safely settled, he could take a breath and relax.
In front of the altar, Max’s vows included the word “Kitten.” Bridget’s included a nervous giggle.
“I do take thee, Cecelia…”
“I do take thee, John…”
Their first kiss came as the lightest of touches, a mere public brush of their lips at the end of the ceremony. Then spirited congratulations to both newly wedded couples, from each to the other, from an ecstatic Gabe, from a whole host of Yancey brothers and family.
Before they joined the celebration at a party already beginning to roar at the hotel, Cecelia and John shared their second kiss. He had pulled her into an alcove of Manzanita trees far away from the crowd, where he was finally free to have his way with her.
A lengthy, passionate, marrow-draining kiss, that had Cecelia weak at the knees and John clamoring for more. Once he had finally surfaced from the pool he was drowning in, he grasped her upper arms. Tough and hard.
“Listen here, Mrs. Yancey, let’s get somethin’ straight right now.”
Eyes wide, lips parted deliciously, lungs still fighting to draw in air, she stared up at him.
“I lied,” he told her fiercely. “This ain’t no business proposition. We ain’t about to just see how things work out, and we won’t ever be goin’ our separate ways. B’cause we’re married good and proper, darlin’. You’re mine, you’re my wife, and you always will be, forever and ever amen.”
“Oh, John,” she breathed, lifting one hand to smooth back his tumbled hair. “You’re right. You really are a damn sight better catch than that yokel I chose first time around.” Letting loose with a giggle that rivaled her maid’s, she purred, “Now, John, kiss me again. And again. And again…”