Heart of mine, p.13
Heart of Mine, page 13
“Yes, so far the challenge has given her wings. And, as you’ll learn as soon as you reach town, she fancies herself in love with Santiago Alvarado, a young man you’ll meet. I believe she’s hoping for a proposal soon. Maybe she and Lavinia will have a double ceremony.”
“That is news! Then almost all of the Brinkmans will be spoken for? Only you and your older sister, Mrs. Applebee?”
“Her too.” Emma’s mouth set into a hard line. It seemed so unlike her.
“I’d think you would be happy for her. For them.”
She lifted a shoulder and nodded, looking beguiling in the moonlight.
“I am. Mavis has feelings for our sheriff, Clint Dawson. Even if she denies it. He’s a very likable man, handsome too. It’s just . . .” Her voice faded off, and she didn’t finish her sentence. “Anyway, they haven’t made a declaration as of yet, but the writing has been on the wall for some time.”
“I’m confused. You seem to be giving conflicting signals about your sisters. Don’t you want them to fall in love, marry, and have families?” Maybe he was presumptuous to ask, but she’d started on the subject. “Is that how you feel about Blake and Belle? And your other sister, the hatmaker and her beau?”
Emma’s shoulders straightened. Seemed she didn’t like him asking so many questions, prying into her head and heart. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m happy for them, I am. When the time comes, every single one will be a wonderful mother. It’s just . . .”
“Oh, I understand. You’ve been hurt, and are worried they will be too.”
She turned and studied his face. It was as if she worried he might think less of her because of it.
“I never want them to go through anything like I have. And I never intend to go through it again either. I’ll not allow myself to fall in love again, Beranger. Not ever. I’ve made a pact with myself.”
Ah, the crux of the problem. I should have guessed it sooner.
Now her innocent coyness made perfect sense. She’d set upon a path impossible to follow. And it also explained why she was so upset about him and Delphine in the shop. She wanted to spare the world of women her pain. Well, he didn’t have a happily-ever-after story to change her mind—far from that. But if he were honest with himself, he’d already fallen for Emma, with her quirky ways and pretty smile. She was in his thoughts night and day. Could he bear to simply let her slip away?
He lifted a shoulder. “I have to disagree with you, Emma. I do think love is worth the price. Someday, God willing, I intend to find the woman who will be the perfect partner.”
He held her gaze and didn’t let go.
Emma shivered, but whether it was from the cool night air or the intensity of Beranger’s stare, she wasn’t sure. Beranger believes in love? That seems farfetched. With the sad story of his life, she was skeptical.
Confused by the intensity of his gaze, she took a step away. He was exasperating. Is he trying to mix me up? She needed to redirect the conversation. He seemed talkative tonight. It was now or never if she was going to ask . . .
She straightened a bit and glanced at the moon. “I’ve been thinking about the sword, and how you deftly dealt with the cholla. You’re interesting. Your history, I mean,” she hurried on. “Why did you leave your home and come to America? Without your family? Won’t you tell me, Beranger?”
“I’ve already told you. I’m an illegitimate son of—”
“I know all that, but why did you leave England? You never said. And you must have been very young to accomplish all you have and become so successful. I’m feeling sad for you, but perhaps I shouldn’t. Maybe your story is a happy one.”
“Yes, it’s roses and apple pie. Better? Now, it’s getting late. You should go in.”
She shook her head. “I’m not sleepy.”
“There’s not much to tell.”
“Of course there is. It’s your life. You’re English. You crossed the sea. I think your story fascinating just by knowing those few details.”
He chuckled. “At least you find me fascinating. For a woman set against love, you are a bit forward.”
Happiness filled her, and she laughed. “We’ve become friends, I think. We’ve been stuck together, side by side, for days. Familiarity breeds fondness, and fondness breeds, well . . .”
Love? She’d talked herself into a corner. Unquestionably not love.
“Fascination?” he asked sardonically.
“Yes, that’s it. Thank you.”
“Fine. If you really must know the truth, I was a hooligan,” he said, continuing the story. “Cursed by being born with eyes that didn’t match. When I was thirteen, I stole a horse from my father’s stable and ran away. I boarded a ship as an indentured servant and ended up here. End of story.”
“But why did you run away? There’s more to it, I know.”
“You’re imagining a pretty fairy tale.”
The bet she’d made with her sister entered her thoughts. Her easy friendship with Beranger, and how happy she was when they were together like this, talking, sharing, had nothing to do with Belle. Nothing in the least. He understood how much she missed Brenda. He respected, even if he disagreed with, her decision not to fall in love. He’d shared so much of his background, she felt privileged. She remembered the way her sisters had looked when they’d first realized they were in love, and she wasn’t acting even remotely the same. She could relax. Beranger was making this journey livable by revealing parts of his interesting background—nothing more.
He made a show of stretching his arms and then twisting his back.
“The day has finally caught up with me. I’m going to get some sleep. Come on, I’ll walk you in.”
When he placed his hand on her back, a flutter of warm feelings ensued. She thought of his hands spanning her middle when she’d been sick.
As hard as she tried to push the thoughts of him away, she wasn’t at all surprised that she didn’t sleep a wink that night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Arriving at the stage depot in Durango the next morning, Beranger helped Emma to the ground, followed by the sisters. He circled around to the back, where the shotgun messenger had already opened the back boot of the coach to extract the sisters’ trunks. This was where they would part ways. The women disappeared to the back of the building in search of the outhouse. Mr. Tug, carrying his belongings, tottered toward the front door of the depot. The stench from his bag had become unendurable. Emma had kept her face turned into Beranger’s shoulder for most of the day. Ester and Penny kept their handkerchiefs to their face. Beranger vowed to make sure the putrid thing was stored in the boot from here on out. The man should be grateful he didn’t pitch it over a cliff—something he should have done from the start. To his knowledge, Tug had never opened the bag, so the contents couldn’t be anything he needed on a daily basis. He was just being stubborn.
Knowing he didn’t have much time for coffee, Beranger headed for the depot in search of a quick cup and whatever else they might have to fill his stomach. He passed Mr. Tug as the man tottered out. Beranger took a cup of brew and a couple of biscuits from plates stacked three rows high in the center of the table and headed straight for the old fellow, planning to catch him before the shotgun messenger had a chance of buttoning up the boot.
He ambled over to the side of the carriage where Mr. Tug waited for the others. “Another biscuit?” He held out the food in hope of softening him up.
The man eyed the offering and shook his head.
The driver was working the last buckle.
“Hold up with that,” Beranger called. He looked down at the carpetbag as the women appeared with coffee of their own. Everyone was eating or drinking something.
Mr. Tug started to move away, but Beranger stopped him. “Let’s stow that in back now that there’s room. With the sisters’ two trunks gone, there isn’t a chance anything inside will be crushed.” He reached out and smiled. “I’ll handle your belongings with loving care.”
The man frowned and snapped back, “What you say?” His gaze cut around the faces. “I don’t take orders from you, you doctorial ass!”
Beranger hadn’t thought he’d sounded bossy, just firm. The man was defensive—but why? He had to know whatever was inside stunk to high heaven.
“Now that you mention it, you do have to. Hand that over. The driver will pack it in the back or on top, wherever you prefer. The aroma is offensive to the ladies, and to me as well.”
Jimbo stepped out of the stage office behind the man. “You mean the stink is offensive!”
Beranger reached once more for the bag, hoping to avoid a confrontation. Wrestling an old man wasn’t in his constitution. He wasn’t a bully.
Mr. Tug bared his few teeth, and the women gasped.
The man was deranged. The thought had previously crossed Beranger’s mind.
Mr. Tug began backing up, his eyes glittering with malice. He must have already forgotten that Jimbo was directly behind him, with a mischievous slant to his mouth.
Beranger shook his head at Jimbo and narrowed his eyes. He didn’t intend to traumatize the old fellow. He just wanted a peaceful, agreeable end to the problem. The solution was easy: put the bag in back. Beranger could talk his way through this, and everyone would be fine.
But by his expression, Jimbo had other ideas. He couldn’t care less what happened as long as he got a laugh. Once again Beranger shook his head in warning, thinking he was going to tip Mr. Tug off, but that didn’t happen.
“You ain’t gettin’ my bag. You ain’t gettin’ it,” he mumbled over and over.
Beranger had to act. “Hold up, Jimbo. I’ve got this.”
Hurrying so Beranger couldn’t spoil his fun, Jimbo snatched the handle.
Mr. Tug held on.
A scuffle ensued.
With a sickening rip the thing split open, and a lump of what looked like three limp chicken carcasses fell to the earth. In the twist of rotting feathers, it was difficult to tell.
The women screamed and dropped their cups.
Jimbo shouted and jumped back as the glob landed on his boot. “My gawd, Mr. Tug! Wh-what is that?” He took a few steps back, his eyes huge.
Peggy turned into her sister’s arms and buried her face in Ester’s shoulder.
Emma stood transfixed, her eyes bulging.
The stage driver and shotgun messenger, who’d gathered around as well, stood in shocked silence at the sight before them.
The depot manager came forward with a shovel, but Mr. Tug shouted his disapproval and opened the ripped bag as if he was going to reclaim his property and shove it back inside.
“The man is stark raving mad,” Jimbo uttered shakily. His face was white as the women’s.
Beranger stepped forward, trying to catch Mr. Tug’s gaze. “What is that?”
Mr. Tug glared. “My darlings.”
The man with the shovel scooped up the rotting carcasses and strode away.
“I won’t go without ’em,” the lunatic shouted. He began to follow after them, but the shotgun messenger caught his arm.
“You’re not bringing ’em, you crazy fool!”
“I am. I have my rights.”
“Then I’m throwing you off the stage.”
The depot manager called back, “Don’t leave that nut with me.”
The driver looked around and rubbed his whiskered chin. “Load up! We don’t have time for this tomfoolery. We still have a schedule to keep.”
Emma made her way toward the coach, looking reluctantly at the inside. “I don’t think I can get back in.”
Beranger didn’t enjoy the thought of breathing the foul air either. Grasping the door, he opened and closed it a few times in an effort to rid the conveyance of the lingering stench.
Ester and Peggy appeared at Emma’s side. “We hate to let you go after such a fright, honey,” Ester said. “Maybe the driver’ll let the coach stay on a while.”
“Nothin’ doing,” the driver yelled. “We’re pulling out in exactly three minutes, regardless who’s on.”
“How long will you remain here?” Emma asked.
“Just until tomorrow, then we’ll be back on our way,” Peggy answered. “You’ll be home by then, washed up, and having had a good night’s sleep in your own linen.”
Emma sighed deeply and gave a little shiver. “That sounds too good to be true. But you two be careful with you-know-who until you depart tomorrow. I’m worried about you.”
“We’ll be fine. I doubt he’ll leave that hastily dug grave.”
“Emma, say your goodbyes.” Beranger gave a gentle nudge. “The driver is ready to pull out.”
She looked up at Beranger and then quickly hugged each woman. “I’m so happy to have met you both. You made the trip so much nicer. I hope you’ll write and let me know how you’re faring.”
“Of course we’ll write. We want to know how the adventure ends. Only you can tell us that.”
They smiled at Beranger.
Ester winked and said, “It’s been our privilege to ride with you, Mr. North. We’re grateful for how you looked after us.” Her gaze surreptitiously slid over to Emma, who was watching Mr. Tug stand morosely by the newly mounded dirt. “We hope you keep up the good work,” she said to Beranger while wagging her brows at Emma. “Some jobs are more difficult than others.”
He chuckled, and Emma glanced up. “Did I miss something?” she said.
“No, dearie. You just rest until you get to Eden. That family of yours will be glad to have you home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Eden, Colorado
In the late-afternoon sun, Mavis and Clint sat on the porch of the hotel waiting for Emma’s arrival. When Mavis had received the telegram, she’d been shocked at Belle and Blake actually allowing Emma to go off on her own. She was accompanied by their new employee, Mr. North, but what did they know of him? Really know? She was touched that Emma had been adamant about returning in time to make her first town council meeting that night, as Belle had said in her telegram, but knew there must be other reasons as well. Ones Belle hadn’t relayed in the short message. A few nervous butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Running and participating in meetings for the Five Sisters Ranch was one thing, but standing in front of a full house as the town’s first woman mayor was quite another.
Clint leaned back and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m thankful things turned out the way they did with Mr. Lake. Being nearly deaf, he didn’t realize how he sounded much of the time. Got frustrated often. I hope the collapsing-trumpet hearing aid Jeremy prescribed works well for him. He seemed to like it very much.”
“The handy implement certainly cured him from asking ‘what’ after every word we said,” Mavis replied with a little laugh. “I was pleased he took our interfering so well. And he has apologized to each family already. It’s only been a couple of days.” She laid her hand on Clint’s warm arm. “Thank you so much for standing with me. I’m sure it’s because of you the intervention went so well.”
Clint grunted his agreement. “Thank you.” His eyes sparkled. “But don’t sell yourself so short, Mavis. You did all the fancy talking. I was very impressed. Seems like he’d been contemplating retirement before we approached him, and then our concerns were the kick in the pants he needed.”
Contentment rolled through Mavis. One problem averted. “Now all we have to do is find a suitable replacement before school begins. Then this issue can be wrapped up with a bow and set aside.”
She glanced at her handsome lawman, admiring his profile. They’d been spending more and more time together, but she wished she knew how he felt about her—really felt. She’d never be the one to speak first; it wasn’t in her to do so. “How does Cash like working for Rhett?” she asked. “The hotel they’re building for Mr. Wells is quite complicated but seems to be moving along nicely.”
A glow came over Clint’s face. “I’m so proud of that boy. He’s making something fine of himself. He loves the work. It’s much more challenging than his job at the livery, no disrespect meant to you and Maverick. I’m indebted to Rhett for taking him on.”
“Don’t be silly. You’re not indebted to Rhett. Rhett counts on him. Says he’s bright, a diligent worker, and brings a great attitude to work each and every day. You can’t ask for more than that—and all those aspects came from you, Clint. Your teaching, your example. You’re not giving yourself any credit. You’ve done an exemplary job raising Cash. You’re a wonderful father.”
A boyish smile appeared, looking out of place on the tall, rugged lawman. “I hope you’re right, Mavis. That boy’s as important to me as my life. I love my son.”
The smile was suddenly gone, replaced with a look of wondrous longing. She reached over and stroked his arm with her left hand, not minding the damaged appearance anymore. “Of course you do. And he loves you. Where is this look coming from?”
Clint shrugged. “He’s growing up. Someday he’ll move on.”
The moment was heavy with meaning. He turned his attention from the street and looked at her. “It’s always been me and Cash. I’ll miss him when he goes.”
“Clint, he’s only fifteen years old. He’s not going anywhere soon.”
“Almost fifteen. Not until the end of this month.”
Maybe Clint was feeling his age. Now that Cash was nearly grown, how would he feel about raising another child, having a baby in the house—or maybe two? Mavis had raised her little sisters, but that didn’t stop her from pining for a few of her own. Would children be a stumbling block for Clint? She’d never considered that before. Was the potential responsibility of new fatherhood stopping him from taking their relationship to the next level? That was too sad to contemplate.
Not knowing how to make him feel better or calm her own agitated thoughts, she looked up the road in the direction the stage would appear. “Emma should be here anytime.” Mavis sat straighter. “Oh my gosh, Clint. Don’t look now, but Santiago and that Mrs. Salazar are across the street.”
The night before, Katie had been inconsolable, saying Santiago was in love with someone else. That the woman was gorgeous, and he’d known her from before.
