Debra Holland (6 page)

Mrs. Cobb looked up from behind the counter and gave him a smile that didn’t reflect any warmth in her squinty brown eyes. She straightened a stack of jam jars that were already perfectly aligned. “Good afternoon, Mr. Gordon.”

“Afternoon, Mrs. Cobb.”

She fingered a gold foil box in front of her. “We’ve just received a shipment of chocolate from Europe. I set aside several boxes for Wyatt Thompson. I believe you rode out to his ranch yesterday. His fiancé was raised in Germany and fancies their chocolate.”

Ant smiled, willing to charm, even though he didn’t like the woman. He stepped closer to the counter, enjoying the aroma of coffee from the bags of beans stacked next to the grinder. “I’ve spent time there myself. Candy, pastries, nothing better.”

She sniffed. “Then you haven’t tried some decent American cooking. Many women in this town have a light hand with cakes and pies.”

Put his boot right into that one. Best shy away from the subject. “I’ll take a box.” He pointed to some peppermint sticks. “And several of those.”

She harrumphed, but tore off a piece of brown paper to wrap around the peppermint sticks.

“How’s Miss Stanton doing? Has she recovered from her accident?”

“Bruise still looks nasty. She can walk though. Hobbles around holding on to the furniture.” The shopkeeper jerked her head toward the door to the living quarters; the loose skin on her fleshy cheeks fluttered with the movement. “She’s in there. Holding court.”

Ant grabbed the box of chocolates and the parcel of peppermint sticks. “Then I’ll just step inside and pay my regards.”

Mrs. Cobb shrugged. “Makes no difference to me.”

As he opened the door, he could hear the murmur of feminine voices. He recognized the two women sitting on the sofa, each holding a cup and saucer patterned with roses. Elizabeth Sanders and Pamela Carter. After his forays around town and to the neighboring ranches, Ant reckoned he already knew half the population. Too many people knowing his business.

To Ant’s practiced eye, both women’s silk dresses appeared to be the latest fashion, not that he’d paid much attention to such things in the last few years. Chasing Lewis and David across the country had rubbed some of the sophisticated edges off him. But he couldn’t miss how the sapphire of Elizabeth Sander’s dress made her eyes bluer than the sky outside, while Pamela Carter’s maroon shirtwaist lent some color to her plump-cheeked, plain face.

Across from them, Harriet perched on the edge of the wingchair. As he entered, she looked up. A smile crossed her face, but he could detect signs of strain in her gray eyes. The bruise on her forehead had faded from purple to a greeny-yellow, but was still too vivid to hide.

“Mr. Gordon. How nice to see you.”

He removed his hat. “Miss Stanton.” He nodded at the other two ladies. “Mrs. Sanders. Mrs. Carter. Good afternoon.”

He handed Harriet the box of candy. “To help speed the rest of your recovery.”

Pink floated into her cheeks; a glow replaced the strained look in her eyes. “Why, Mr. Gordon. I don’t believe anyone has ever given me chocolate. This is a rare treat. Thank you so very much.”

Pride swelled in Ant’s chest. His gift had made her happy. He backed off from the feeling, striving for deflation. “I always brought candy for my sister.” He gestured toward the box. “She loved European chocolate.”

Elizabeth Sanders’ blue eyes sparkled with interest. “Your sister was very lucky. I wish my brother had been half so attentive,” she said, speaking in a Boston accent.

Pamela Carter exchanged a reminiscing glance with her. “My brothers weren’t so thoughtful, either.” She too had a Boston accent, although not as strong as Mrs. Sanders’.

Mrs. Sanders laughed. “More tormenting than thoughtful.”

Half with humor, half sadness, Ant remembered some of his more mischievous moments with Emily. “I believe that’s the job of brothers—to torment their sisters.”

Harriet waved to a straight-back wooden chair. “Won’t you please be seated, Mr. Gordon. Would you like some tea?”

He would, but didn’t see an extra teacup, and he didn’t want to send Harriet hobbling off to the kitchen after one. “No thank you.” He eased himself into a hardback chair. Hardly comfortable, but just sitting quietly out of the sun, released some of the tension in his head.

Harriet shifted in the wingchair as if in pain. “I see you already know my visitors.”

“Had the honor of meeting them yesterday.”

“You’ve covered a great deal of territory in your search for David.”

Mrs. Sanders set her cup and saucer down on the marble-topped table next to her. “Is there any more news about your nephew, Mr. Gordon?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Mrs. Carter leaned forward, worry shading in her brown eyes. “For the last two days, I’ve been trying to think of any place else your brother-in-law could be. I’m afraid I haven’t had any success.”

The warm concern in Mrs. Carter’s gaze managed to penetrate the shell he’d encased himself in since Emily’s death. Ant doubted the women would be so eager to help if they knew what he intended to do to Lewis when he found the bastard. “I’ve narrowed the possibilities to four places. With your permission, ladies, I’d like to run them by you and get your opinion.”

They all nodded eagerly.

“On the mountain, near the edge of the Thompson and Rodriguez ranches, is a run-down cabin. One of Thompson’s ranch hands mentioned he’d noticed signs of life there, but hadn’t time to check it out. Thompson seemed a bit put out that his hand hadn’t reported this before.”

Mrs. Carter tucked a wisp of mouse-brown hair behind her ear. “Our Mr. Thompson has always been a very vigilant man. I’m surprised he didn’t notice the cabin’s inhabitants himself.”

Mrs. Sanders smiled. A dimple played about the right corner of her mouth. “Being in love might have distracted him a bit.”

The other two women laughed.

He cleared his throat to bring their attention back to the topic that kept him up at night. Even now, thinking of confronting Lewis had his gut tightening. “I had to persuade him to let me check it out first. I’ve promised to report back to him.”

Mrs. Sanders nodded. “Wyatt Thompson is mighty protective of his family, but for the same reason, he’ll want to help you.”

“Appreciate that.” Ant gave her a brief smile he didn’t feel. “There’s a family by the name of Crooks with several children living near where Shiny Stone Creek flows into the Blue River. According to Doc Cameron, the family size seems to vary from time to time. Do you know them?”

Mrs. Carter shrugged. More tendrils of hair slipped from the knot at the back of her head to wave around her plump cheeks. “I don’t.” She glanced across at Harriet. “Do you?”

Harriet shook her head. “Their children certainly don’t attend school. When I can walk again, I’ll have to pay a visit to see if I can enroll them.”

Although disappointed, Ant continued with the possibilities. “There’s a deserted homestead about five miles south and two miles west. A creek runs through it.”

The women shook their heads in unison.

“The last place is up the Hutter path. One of the cowboys I spoke to in town mentioned seeing lights at a former miner’s shack one evening when he rode by. Looked like someone had done some work on it.”

Mrs. Carter sighed. “That doesn’t give you many places.”

“I only need one—the one where David is.”
And soon, if I am to have any chance of molding my nephew into a decent man.
He hoped it wasn’t already too late.

With a quick sideways glance, Mrs. Sanders signaled Mrs. Carter.
 

Ant sensed an unspoken exchange between the two, but didn’t quite pick up the meaning.
Damn.
Was he losing some of his astuteness in reading women? If so, when he returned to being a reporter, he’d have some sharpening up to do.

Mrs. Sanders rose to her feet with practiced grace. “We must be going. I do hope your ankle will be better soon, Miss Stanton.”

Mrs. Carter stood up, “Speedy recovery, my dear.”

“Thank you.” Harriet made as if to move, than stopped. “Please give Mark and Sara my regards. And Lizzy too.”

Mrs. Carter touched Harriet’s shoulder. “They’ll be so relieved you’re feeling better. Lizzy, especially, becomes upset when she knows someone’s in pain.”

Harriet’s face brightened. “She’s such a little angel. I’m so looking forward to having her as a pupil when school starts up again.”

Ant unfolded to his feet, while the ladies exchanged good-byes. After they left, he resumed his seat. Silence settled for a minute. He turned his hat in his hands. “Mrs. Cobb tells me that you are managing to walk, but not well.”

Harriet wrinkled her nose. “I’m getting around with the aid of the furniture.” Her gaze swept the room. “I always have something to hold onto.”

He waved at the over-crowded room, “I see that.”

Her mouth pulled up into a partial smile.

Ah, that quarter smile again. This time not an exhausted attempt to respond to his humor, but an I-agree-with-you-but-am too-ladylike-to-say partial smile. “I came here to ask your advice about which place to pursue first.”

She wrinkled her brow. “If you check out the cabin near the Thompson ranch, you’ll save him the trouble of sending one of his hands.”

Good thought. Just seeing Thompson’s cowboys could be enough to make Lewis bolt. “There’s still time to ride out there today. Tomorrow I’ll visit the farm.”

“The day after that, if you choose the family to visit, I’d like to come with you.”

“No.” He spit the word out more sharply than he intended.

Harriet reared up in her chair. Anger sparked in her eyes. Her jaw tightened as if she held back a cutting response.

Ant almost laughed. He’d bet that under her refined schoolmarm exterior this kitten possessed sharp claws. He was about to apologize, then stopped. Firmness was important. He didn’t want her anywhere near Lewis.

“You haven’t heard my reasons, Mr
.
Gordon.”

He was back to Mister was he? Just as well. “I’m sorry,
Miss
Stanton. You’ve been injured and are in no condition to be traipsing up the mountain.”

She lifted her chin. “I’ll be perfectly able to ride by then. Mr. Cobb keeps a horse at the livery, which I’m allowed to ride when he doesn’t need it.”

“Your ankle needs more time to heal.”

“My ankle is better every day. By tomorrow I should be able to walk without groping for the furniture.”

 
A shaft of humor penetrated his protectiveness. Darn if he didn’t like the woman, but he didn’t dare let it show.

“I want to speak to that family about sending their children to school. Now that I know about them, I certainly intend to visit. If you won’t escort me, I’ll ride there alone.”

Ant’s stomach tightened, and he clenched his fingers around the arms of his chair.
 
Damn stubborn woman.
Although he remained planted, he wanted to pace the room, think through his response. But knocking over the furniture and bric-a-brac wouldn’t help him clear his thoughts. The obdurate schoolmarm had him over a barrel. There was no way in this world he’d allow her to go anywhere near Lewis without being right at her side.

Uncurling his fingers, he looked at her, keeping his face stern. “Very well. But only if you promise to be careful.”

“Of course.” Her answering smile could charm the spots off an Appaloosa.

Ant dug deep inside for the strength to resist a growing attraction. He succeeded, but barely. And only because the fear in his belly weighed down any inclination to smile.

* * *

Two days later, dressed in a brown divided skirt, a tan long-sleeved boy’s shirt, with one of Mr. Cobb’s leather hats shading her face, Harriet sat to one side of the steps leading to the mercantile. Resting on her lap, a burlap bag held enough ham sandwiches and oatmeal cookies to feed an army, plus a large jar of lemonade. She could barely heft the package, but judging from Ant’s size, she figured this was about the amount of food needed to provision him.

Anticipation for a day with Ant made her restless. If her ankle felt entirely sound, she would have paced back and forth in front of the store. But a thread of worry about the dull ache in her ankle kept Harriet seated. The rest of the day would put enough strain on it, and her pride would not permit her to show the least hint of pain. Not when she’d insisted on accompanying Ant against his inclination.

The early morning sun already hinted of summer heat, and around her the sleepy town stirred to life. Across the street at the trough in front of the livery stable, Pepe, the Mexican stable hand, pumped water into a bucket—the first of many trips.

Red Charlie slid open the doors that bisected the entire front of his blacksmith shop. A fire was already burning, and he bent to his work. As the clang of hammer on metal echoed across to her, she could see tiny orange sparks flying around the Blackfoot man.

On the porch of the white frame church, Mary Norton, the minister’s wife, chatted with Hester Arden. Mrs. Arden usually cleaned the church on Saturday, but judging by the broom in her hands, had chosen today instead.