Yesterday's Magic (33 page)

She left the Mercantile by the back door and
was halfway across the street when she stopped in her tracks. Less
than fifteen feet away from her, lounging against the wood post,
talking to Bart Schneider, was her father.

“Daddy,” she whispered.

Fortunately, neither of the men heard her.
They continued their conversation.

He was young—much younger than she could ever
remember him being. He was dressed in rough-looking brown pants, a
big coat, and he had stubble on his chin.

In 2007, he was an attractive man. In 1877,
he’d been hot.

It made her already queasy stomach flip
around some more just knowing how truly weird it was to have those
kind of thoughts about her father.

She stepped up onto the wooden sidewalk and
lingered.

“I’m looking for Thomas Bean,” her father
said. “I’ve got some cattle for him.”

Thomas. Wasn’t that interesting? Everything
had been connected. “A couple miles that direction,” Bart said,
gesturing toward the east. When he turned, he spied Bella.

“Afternoon, Bella,” he said, tipping his hat.
Her father turned, their eyes—so much alike—locked and Bella held
her breath. “Ma’am,” he said, tipping his own hat.

“Gentlemen,” she said. She could hear the
trembling in her own voice. She felt stiff and awkward holding one
arm just so to keep the whiskey glass hidden under her sleeve while
she kept the other arm wrapped around her satchel. While she wanted
to stand there and examine her father and get a better idea of what
he’d been like as a young man, she forced her feet to move. She’d
be seeing her father for real in a few hours.

Bella walked into the lobby of the hotel and
realized, rather belatedly, that she didn’t have Toomay’s room
number. She approached the small man behind the desk. He was
reading a book. It was the same guy who’d checked Toomay in, just
two days earlier.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I’m looking for Mr. Toomay’s room,” she
said.

The desk clerk stared pointedly at Bella’s
satchel. “Is Mr. Toomay expecting you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you Freida Stroganhaufer’s
niece?”

Bella nodded and forced herself to keep her
breathing slow and steady. If she had her magic, this guy would be
a seal at Sea World where he could balance balls on his big nose
every day.

The man’s bushy eyebrows moved up and down,
as if to say he could hardly believe how bold she was. He leaned
forward and whispered, “Does Freida know you’re here?”

She didn’t know why he was whispering. There
was nobody else around. “Yes,” she lied.

What did one more matter? She’d been lying to
everybody since the minute she’d arrived. Someday, when the real
Merribelle Wainwright showed up, they’d all know the truth.

Would Jed ever forgive her? Would he think
everything had been a lie? She hated that.

“The room number, please,” she said, her
voice firm.

He sniffed, as if he didn’t like her bossy
tone. “Number Four. Second door on the left.” He turned and picked
up his book.

Bella walked up the eight steps to the second
floor. The whiskey in the glass she carried sloshed over the side
and a stream ran down her thumb, onto the top of her hand. She
found the door and knocked. When Toomay opened the door, he didn’t
have a shirt or socks on. He wore only black pants, with suspenders
hanging loose at the waist.

Oh, shit.
“Mr. Toomay,” she said,
determined to be in control from the start.

“Mrs. Wainwright,” he said, his voice low,
suggestive. “Come in. I’ve been waiting for you.”

***

When Jed was a mile outside of Mantosa, he
stopped his horse. He was cold, hungry, and the prospect of going
home to an empty cabin held no appeal.

He wanted to see Bella.

She’d no doubt closed the Mercantile over an
hour earlier. He turned his horse toward Freida’s, feeling happier
than he’d felt most of the day.

When he got to the cabin, he knocked on the
door.

“Who is it?”

“Freida, it’s Jed,” he said.

“Come in.”

He opened the door and shut it quickly behind
him. The wind was picking up again. Freida was sitting at her
table. The lantern was turned low. There were no signs that supper
had been eaten or that it would be eaten soon.

Something wasn’t right. “Where’s Bella?” he
asked.

Freida motioned to a chair. “Maybe you should
have a seat, Jedidiah.”

Panic flared in his empty gut. “Has something
happened?”

Freida pushed a piece of paper in his
direction. Jed could see that it was a telegram. “Wymer brought
this to me earlier,” Freida said. “Read it.”

Aunt Freida. Please accept my humblest
apology. Mother wishes for me to make a visit but I do not yet feel
up to traveling. Perhaps in the spring. With warmest regards.
Merribelle Wainwright.

“What the hell is this?” Jed threw the
telegram onto the table.

Freida shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been
sitting here for the better part of an hour trying to figure it
out. I guess I’ve been duped. I don’t know who Bella is but I know
she’s not my niece.”

Jed shook his head. “No. Maybe it’s someone
playing a trick on you—could be the person who’s been bothering the
Mercantile—just another way to cause trouble.” He stopped because
he ran out of breath.

Freida gave him a look of pure pity. “Do you
really think that, Jedidiah?”

He wanted to think anything but what was
staring him in the face. She’d taken him for a fool.

“Where is she?”

“In town, I guess. She was here this
afternoon and when she left, that’s where she said she was
headed.”

He started for the door.

“Jedidiah,” Freida said.

He turned.

“Whoever she is, I think she’s a good person.
I don’t know why she’s lying but I can’t help but think there’s a
good reason.”

“I don’t like liars.”

“I know that. But I think she cares for you,
Jedidiah. I’m pretty sure she’s not lying about that.”

***

Bella crossed Toomay’s room, set her satchel
down on the table and threw her head back. “I do hope you don’t
mind that I got a head start,” she said. Then she hiccupped. Just
once. She didn’t want to overact the part. This was the most
important play she’d ever been in.

She opened her satchel and pulled out the
bottle. “I had a drink at the saloon and that tasted so good that I
just felt compelled to open this little bottle, too. You’ll join
me?” she asked, holding up the bottle with one hand and her glass
with the other.

He considered the whiskey and her stomach
quivered with nerves. Was it possible to see that she’d added
Averil’s pain medication? Would he kill outright or make her suffer
first? Her hand shook and she quickly sat both the bottle and the
glass down onto the table. She couldn’t let him know that she was
nervous. Bad Magic fed off emotions like that. He would take her
fear and use it against her.

“Why Mrs. Wainwright, I don’t like to see a
woman drink alone,” he said. He walked across the room and picked
up an empty glass off the dresser. She got ready to pour. However,
instead of walking toward her, he stopped at the bed, sat down, and
scooted up until he was leaning back against the headboard. His
legs were stretched out. He patted the spot next to him. “Bring
that bottle over here and I’ll be happy to join you,” he said.

It was show time and the script wasn’t
finished. She didn’t know what her next line was.

She smiled and picked up the bottle of
whiskey. “Of course,” she said. She walked over to his side of the
bed. She poured the liquid in his glass and she held her breathe
when he took the first sip. He let the liquid slide over his tongue
and then he swallowed.

When he didn’t cough or spit it out, she felt
immensely grateful. That was short lived because he reached up,
grabbed her wrist, and said, “You’re overdressed, Mrs.
Wainwright.”

She still had her coat on. “I got pretty cold
on the walk over here.”

“I’ll warm you up,” he said. He took another
sip.

“Of course.” She took a step back and
unbuttoned her cloak. He watched her like a hawk and she could
barely get her fingers to work. Finally she flipped the heavy
material back and let it fall to the floor. She bent to pick it
up.

“Leave it,” he ordered. He patted the bed
next to him.

“Let me get my glass,” she said. She
deliberately tripped on the rug. “Oops,” she said and giggled. She
glanced over at Toomay. “I think you need to catch up,” she
said.

He took a big drink. “You may be right.” He
stared at her. “I changed my mind. Don’t sit down.”

Her heart stopped beating—probably because
she’d stopped breathing. “I never took you for a fickle man,” she
said.

He stroked his chin. “You’re a beautiful
woman. And it’s been a long time since I’ve had a beautiful woman
dance for me. Bring me my guitar,” he said, pointing toward the
corner of the room. “I will play for you and you will dance for
me.”

She turned. Propped up against the chair in
the corner was a beautiful guitar. She remembered seeing it in
Saul’s store. She picked it up and the shiny wood gleamed in the
lamp light. She could do this. She could dance. He would drink. It
might work out okay.

She handed him the guitar. He strummed a few
notes. “Mrs. Wainwright,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You’re still overdressed. Take off your
clothes.”

***

When Jed got back to town, he immediately
went to the Mercantile. It made him feel good to pound on the back
door. He’d been furious after he’d read the telegram and the cold
ride back to town had done nothing to improve his disposition.

“Bella,” he yelled. “Open the damn door.”

The windows were dark but he knew that didn’t
necessarily mean the store was empty. He learned that well enough
the night before. That sobering thought made his legs feel weak and
he stopped kicking. Instead, he reached in his pocket and pulled
out the key.

The minute he opened the door, he knew she
wasn’t there. The place felt different. Empty. Cold.

He slammed the door and stalked over to the
saloon. He pushed his way through the swinging doors and they swung
so hard that they practically hit the wall. Every eye in the place
was on him.

None of the eyes belonged to Bella.

Damn. He felt like a pot that had a hot fire
underneath it. His insides were churning and his head felt like it
might blow off any minute.

But it wouldn’t do any good to let everybody
know that he’d been played for a fool. He took a deep breath.

“I’m looking for Bella Wainwright,” he said
calmly. “Her aunt is inquiring after her.”

Snake shook his head. Several sets of
shoulders shrugged. Jed smiled. His face felt so stiff that it
might have been carved from stone. “Thank you, anyway. Enjoy your
evening.”

He left the saloon and quickly walked down
the sidewalk. He was halfway to the sheriff’s office when he heard
footsteps running behind him.

“Sheriff.”

He turned. Delilah stood a few yards behind
him. She didn’t have a coat on and she was shivering in her thin
dress. “Yes,” he said.

“I didn’t want to say anything in the saloon
because I respect Freida Stroganhaufer. I don’t think any good can
come from people wondering about her but earlier today I did sell
Bella some whiskey. She said it was for her aunt and I got the
impression that she intended to take it to her right away. Did she
not make it there? Is that why Freida is asking about her?”

More lies. “What time was this, Delilah?”

“Several hours ago.”

That had been well before Bella had been to
see Freida. If she truly had any intention of giving it to her
aunt, she’d had the opportunity. What the hell was she planning on
doing with a bottle of whiskey? Was it possible that he’d missed
that she had a problem with drink?

He didn’t think so. Bella’s eyes were clear,
her breath sweet, her steps sure.

She wasn’t a drunk. She was a liar.

“I appreciate the information. You better get
on back to the saloon before you catch a bad chill.”

Delilah started to turn away but then
stopped. “I hope Freida is better soon. I could tell that Bella
really cares for her.” She proceeded to hurry back toward the
saloon.

Wasn’t that interesting? According to Freida,
Bella cared for him, too. She’d fooled the whole damn town. It
should have made him feel better, that he hadn’t been the only one
to succumb to her charms. But it didn’t. He was pretty sure nothing
would ever make him feel better again.

When he walked into the sheriff’s office,
Bart had pulled his chair and a small table up close to Pete’s
cell. Pete had likewise pulled his cot up close to the bars and the
two men were playing checkers.

“Howdy, Jedidiah,” Bart said. “I didn’t
expect to see you again so soon. Is anything wrong? You look as if
you’ve had bad news.”

His world was crumbling. He didn’t have the
energy to lie to Bart so he evaded the question entirely. “You
haven’t seen Bella by any chance, have you?” Jed asked.

“I saw her earlier. She was—”

“Don’t let her fool you,” Pete screamed.
“She’s not like you and me.”

“Shut up, Pete,” Bart said.

“What’s he talking about?” Jed asked.

“Nothing,” Bart said.

“I saw her,” Pete said. “Me and Lenny were
sitting behind the General Store and she appeared out of thin air.
She didn’t offer a word of explanation. Just walked away and got on
the stage like a regular person. But she’s not regular.”

Jed looked at Bart. “How much whiskey has he
had to drink?”

“None. He’s been talking about Bella all
afternoon, ever since she dropped off some peppermint sticks.”

All afternoon. Jed’s heart felt heavy. “So
you haven’t seen her since then?”