Dreams of Gold (9 page)

His boots crunched on the rocky dirt when he stepped off the boardwalk. Within the last hundred feet from the church, he heard the low rumble of men’s grumbling voices and spotted a group huddled in the churchyard.

“Here he comes.”

“Let’s see what the sheriff will do.”

Bodies circled him and swathes of light from a few lanterns held aloft swept across the crowd. Concerned expressions on most of the town’s men hinted at the scope of the problem. He raised his hands and waited for the buzz to quiet. “Gentlemen, I’m sure this can be handled in a few minutes.”

“You think so, Sheriff? We don’t need that gal’s big-city ideas brought to our town.”

Quinn recognized the blacksmith, Otto Bremmer’s, gravelly voice. “Let me go inside and see what’s happening.” As he stepped forward, the crowd parted. At the foot of the stairs stood a familiar square-shouldered figure. “Pa? You’re involved in this?”

“Not by choice” He shook his head then ran a hand over his high forehead. “Remember we told you how your sister, Allene, championed the cause?”

“Yeah.” During the years he was gone, his younger sister had passed out suffrage literature and made speeches. Irony was, she’d married four years earlier and moved to Oregon Territory before having the chance to cast her vote in an election.

“Well, your ma’s in there now. Said something about this newcomer carrying on the spark that Allene lit.” His pa rested a hand on his shoulder. “Son, sort this out quick. I know you can.”

Quinn looked into trusting hazel eyes—the emotion and color just like Logan’s. His chest tightened as the weight of responsibility settled. Rather than the inconsistencies of war, this situation was one he could deal with. One petite woman should not be so hard to quell. “I will, Pa.”

“Nevin’s right. We want our women home now.” A masculine voice rose above the din.

“Yeah, where they belong.”

Sensing the crowd’s frustration, Quinn nodded at his father, then climbed up several stairs and turned. “You men stay here. This will go easier if I go in alone.” He scanned the crowd and spotted his deputy at the outer edge. “Bud, come on up and take my place.” Quinn waited until Bud reached the bottom step, then climbed to the doorway and slipped into the cloakroom. A familiar lilting voice tickled his ears.

“Your comment, Mrs. Renato, leads into one of the reasons I suggested this gathering. Most of you have heard of the circumstances under which I arrived in your town. Because of the actions of despicable thieves, I find myself with limited cash and in need of employment.”

Murmurs of agreement sounded from around the room.

“This evening at supper, I was surprised to learn that in the only territory where women have the right to vote, not all believe this should be. I was chastised for insinuating myself where I wasn’t wanted and for accosting men for employment. I was also told I should be looking for a husband instead. Granted, the comments were spoken by a woman from a generation that held these archaic ideals. But her repressed attitude shocked me.”

Quinn leaned a shoulder on the wall, hesitant to enter the room. So far, Ciara wasn’t doing more than stating an opinion—albeit a progressive one that hadn’t filtered throughout the entire state of Wyoming yet.

“My dressing down came after I made a suggestion to Mr. Stanton about contributing a fashion article or two to the newspaper. Back in Massachusetts, I worked in the millinery trade and know firsthand how women crave knowledge of the latest trends. I offered to share that information about Eastern styles. He doesn’t believe such a need exists because you women”—her words paused—”don’t read his newspaper.”

Shocked voices crescendoed. Quinn stiffened, ready to round the corner. He couldn’t catch any specific words from the crowd, but the tone was definitely offended.

“Ladies, my statements are not meant to denigrate anyone. Marriage is a choice for some women. In fact, on my travels here, I met a young woman whose best choice out of a crowded Ohio household was to accept the proposal of a man she’d never met. Luckily, her decision turned out to be a happy one, based on what I observed this evening. But so often, women get matched with men more interested in a mother for their children than a wife.”

“I avoided that just today.” A woman’s voice rose over the whispered conversations. “Miss Morrissey read her fancy cards and warned me against accepting the widower Thompson’s proposal.”

Quinn shifted at the corroboration of Nate’s story about Ciara’s card reading.

“Miss Johnson, warned might be too strong a word. I share the opinion of respected women across the country who don’t believe marriage has to be the only choice. Through centuries past, women have performed work outside the home. Granted, the tasks have been an extension of women’s work from around the hearth—governess, seamstress, cook.” Ciara’s voice rose. “As women have become educated, they should be allowed the opportunity to use that knowledge for the benefit of society.

“I was also told a woman’s opinion should match her husband’s views. The insinuation here is that if a woman isn’t married, she doesn’t have an opinion. A fact that is definitely not true about me. How about for you unmarried ladies?”

Quinn bit back a laugh at her comment about having an opinion. This woman had plenty. He sensed the growing agitation among the women and leaned around the wall until he spotted Ciara behind the podium at the head of the room.

“That’s why, ladies—” Ciara shook a finger in the air “—we need to support the campaign to hire more women as teachers and to raise money to build a schoolhouse. Exercise the vote granted you and convince the governing group of your wishes here in Wyoming Territory.”

Several bonnets bobbed like daisies in a breeze.

“Take up a petition or speak to the town leaders. Tell them you want a female teacher—one who has studied the same coursework as a man but who will probably teach with a gentler manner. Back in Massachusetts, women have comprised the majority of classroom teachers for many years and have proved just as reliable as men.”

“But why would we want to bring in a woman teacher?” Widow Perrin asked. “She’d just end up getting married off within a short time to one of the many bachelors in these parts.”

“Oh, Beatrice, you never like anything progressive.” Belle waved a hand. “Keep talking, Miss Morrissey.”

“Progress will help us all.” Ciara spoke louder and paced across the raised platform from where the preacher spoke each Sunday. “Women need to band together. Time spent on education matters or temperance issues will better all our lives. Talk to your husbands, your brothers, your fathers, and help them see how important these issues are.”

Temperance? Quinn’s senses went on alert. Not a topic the men outside wanted to hear. He moved into the church room and leaned against the back wall, hoping to catch Ciara’s gaze and warn her. This speech needed to stop before the situation got out of hand.

A tall woman in the front row shot to her feet. “Now temperance, I got something to say about that. And I’m sure many of you do, too.”

The buzz of voices rose as women turned to those close by and spoke, their hands waving like clothes flapping on a line.

“Sheriff.” Bud’s voice came from just around the wall. “What’s going on? I can’t hold back the men much longer.”

The gathering had to be disbanded. Quinn took a step forward.

“Ladies, we’ve come to hear Miss Morrissey speak.”

That voice was familiar—his mother. Dread grabbed his chest as he turned to his right and stopped. How could he interrupt his own mother?

Vera Riley sat forward in the pew, hand grasping the one in front. “Now, Miss Morrissey, I would like to hear more about building a schoolhouse. Many of us taught our own children at home. I believe a real schoolhouse is the proof a town has become civilized.”

Quinn remembered his mother’s patience, and how she’d longed for a place where her three children could learn in the company of others.

“This church is a good enough place for that.” Mrs. Turner jumped up and waved a fist in the air. “I want that saloon shut down.”

“I agree,” Miss Fontaine’s quiet voice rang out. “My brother spends every Friday and Saturday night there. He comes home reeking of alcohol.”

Loud stamping of feet from the entrance sounded, and the crowd of men pushed their way three bodies deep against the back pews.

Aw, hell.
Quinn pushed off from the wall.

“Bonny’s right.” Mrs. Bremer rose, hands clasped at her waist. “That awful place is a temptation that steals food from my children’s mouths.”

Otto stepped forward and pointed. “Ann Marie, hush what you’re saying in public.”

She spun and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have the right to speak my mind. Right, Miss Morrissey?”

Quinn stifled a groan and glanced at Ciara, whose narrowed green gaze ran over the disruption. This was the first time he’d seen her defenseless. He turned to face the disgruntled men, hands held out to silence the crowd. “Hold on, folks. Let’s quiet down.”

“No, Sheriff. We want something done about that woman.” Otto pointed at Ciara but glared at his wife.

“Yeah, we want our women to come home.” Several men echoed agreement with this last statement.

“Now, gentlemen, I’ve been listening.” Quinn eased two steps back, the need to protect Ciara tensing his muscles. The air was filled with unknown potential. “And the women are doing nothing wrong.”

“If you’re not doing anything, I will.” Otto stepped forward and waved a broad hand. “Ann Marie, get yourself home.”

“I will not.”

Accusations flew between husband and wife, sister and brother. Fingers pointed from opposite sides of the room and hands waved in the air.

The situation was deteriorating fast. Quinn turned to Ciara and stepped up on the platform. Her green gaze met his with a questioning look, her body trembled.

“How could this happen? Help me calm the situation so I may continue.”

Double hell
. His body tightened, ready to come to her assistance. “We’re past that. This is for your own good.” He circled a hand around her upper arm, fighting to ignore the warming of his fingers. “I’m taking you in.”

“What?” She pulled against his grasp. “You’re arresting me?”

He leaned down to whisper. “Go along with me. I’ll explain later.” A lemony scent invaded his nose, and he wanted to nuzzle closer, to linger long enough to taste the delicate skin on her neck. Instead, he straightened and pulled her along as he stepped off the platform.

“This is unfair, Sheriff Riley.” She pushed and shoved against his hold. “I have done nothing wrong.”

Her attempts to break free forced his hand against her ribs, setting his blood racing. Not a good time to be so aware of the spitfire. As he passed each pew, the voices subsided.

At the back of the church, the men shuffled enough to make a path through the crowd.

Quinn paused. “The meeting’s over. Go home everyone.” He moved around the wall and spotted his mother next to the doorway, color burning her cheeks and a condemning glare in her brown eyes.

His chest tightened, but he touched his free hand to the brim of his hat. “Evening, Ma.”

“This is wrong, son.”

He hated the disappointment in her voice. “Sorry, ma’am, it’s my duty.”

Ciara gasped and stopped fighting his grasp.

Like a freshening breeze, the voices rose in the church, but Quinn didn’t look back. He strode down the steps, across the street, and up the rise to the jail, propelling Ciara along. How could he have dashed the first sign of life he’d seen in his mother in months? He clenched his jaw. How could he have acted any differently to protect the infuriating, but enticing, Miss Morrissey?

Fact was, he couldn’t have. The need to keep her safe rose and he’d acted.

When he slammed the office door closed, he spun her into his arms and sought her mouth with his own. Alone and safe. For a moment, he unleashed his concern coupled with the galloping desire this woman invoked. His lips pressed hard against her soft ones.

Only a second later, she responded, her mouth returning his kiss with increasing pressure.

His hands cupped her soft cheeks and he tilted her head to the left so he could nip and suckle her mouth. His tongue swept inside, and he tasted her warm sweetness.

Blood pooled in his groin, and he pulled her closer, needing to feel her womanly curves against his aching body. Caressing hands slid up his chest, leaving tingles in their wake, and stretched around the back of his neck. The concern dissipated, and he let the passion take over, savoring her touch, her scent, her taste.

Arguing voices invaded his awareness, battling with the pounding of blood through his veins. With great reluctance, he pulled away his mouth, his breath huffing out in harsh bursts, and listened.

Unhappy people were headed this way. The crowd had followed them.

Eyes still closed, she moaned and tugged on the front of his shirt.

Damn
.

Resolved with what he had to do, he slid an arm around her waist, guided her through an adjoining door, and into the middle cell. The door shut with a metallic clang.

“What?” Her body went rigid and she spun, grabbing the bars. “How could you, Quinn?”

“I had to.”

The betrayal he saw in her narrowed eyes stabbed like a knife into his chest.