Grayson Brothers Series Boxed Set (4 books in 1) (64 page)

“Look at ‘em,” Gus Wriensler said to the sheriff, jabbing his finger toward Claire and the women gathered around her. “They’re like a bunch of wasps, swarming into my saloon, buzzing about us men like we’re all worthless swine. A man’s got a right to have a nip when he feels the need. And I got a license to sell liquor.

“You don’t have a right to point your gun at unarmed women. Keep it put up, or I’ll take it.”

“Then keep ‘em out of my saloon!”

Duke turned toward the women. “Ladies, give Mr. Wriensler some time to mull over your message.”

“I ain’t mulling over nothing.”

The sheriff scowled at Gus. “Would you prefer to have these ladies on your doorstep every day trying to bring you around to their way of thinking?”

“Hell no.”

“Then I’d suggest you agree to consider their message and send them word once you’ve reached a decision.”

“I already know what I—” Gus clamped his mouth shut, his eyes registering the meaning behind Duke’s words. “All right then. But you keep ‘em off my doorstep while I’m making up my mind.”

Every woman there knew that the minute Gus closed his door he would forget they’d ever been there. Claire saw the disappointment in their faces, knew that some of the women would lose hope and consider the battle lost. But she wasn’t going to let one rude bar owner stall her mission or the dreams of thousands of women across America. “Sheriff Grayson?” she called.

He had stopped to see her and Anna last night, assuring them that Larry was locked up, and that his friends had been warned to stay away.

The sheriff gave her a nod of greeting. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Ashier.”

“It is
not
a good afternoon when a man points a gun at you.

“Then get off my property,” Gus said.

She ignored him and spoke to the sheriff. “It’s apparent to all of us that Mr. Wriensler has no intention of considering our message. Each of us has pledged to march for temperance until we’ve stopped the sale of all intoxicating beverages. I believe I speak for all of us when I say we will not turn our heads simply to appease Mr. Wriensler.”

The ladies’ voices rose in agreement.

“I’ve pledged to visit everyone who is violating our mission,” she went on, looking straight at Gus Wriensler. “No gun or vulgar threat is going to stop us from doing what we believe is right.” They couldn’t allow it to stop them, or nothing would ever change.

The ladies cheered, and Gus glared at Duke. “Get this herd of cattle off my property,” he said, his face crimson with anger.

Gus argued, and the ladies protested until the sheriff finally fired his pistol in the air. Everyone gaped at him in the ringing silence.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice admirably calm. “Now, here’s the way it’s going to be. You ladies stay clear of Mr. Wriensler’s saloon for a while. And Gus, you keep your gun put up or you’ll spend a week as my guest.” Gus’s roar mingled with the ladies’ disappointed protests, but the sheriff ignored all of them. He pushed Gus inside the bar and slammed the door then spread his arms and turned the women away from the saloon. “There’s plenty of other places to do your work. Start there.”

Claire followed the disheartened women to the Common. She felt helpless. She had no idea how to convince a man like Gus Wriensler to close his bar.

Desmona lifted her hand for silence then addressed the ladies. “Gus Wriensler is only part of our problem. There is speculation that some of us are becoming too friendly with the saloon owners,” she said, shooting a meaningful glance at Claire and Anna.

Elizabeth, who was standing beside Desmona, gasped at her mother’s malicious accusation. For Elizabeth’s sake Claire refused to show any anger or embarrassment. Deciding to turn the tables on the pushy witch, she linked her arm with Desmona’s elbow and faced the crowd of fellow marchers. “I’m the guilty party,” she said without preamble. “I’m spending time with Boyd Grayson because I’m working on a surprise.” Not a lie exactly. She was spending time with Boyd. And she was hoping to surprise everyone by stopping his liquor sales.

She let the ladies gather close then raised her voice to be heard. “We need to find the Achilles’ heel of these saloon owners,” she said. “Who influences them? Who has power over them? Who can hurt or help them? For one man it might be his banker. For another man it might be his mother. It’s our job to find that person and recruit them to help us clean up the town. How better to discover that information, or influence these men, than by befriending them?”

Admiration filled Elizabeth’s eyes, and she gave Claire a small nod of support.

The ladies considered for a minute then a buzz of excitement rippled through the crowd. Suddenly a babble of voices filled the Common.

Claire signaled for Anna to sneak away from the crowd. The instant her friend was safely heading up Main Street, Claire thrust Desmona into a group of chatting women then slipped through the mass of bodies and hurried home herself.

Inside her foyer, she closed the door and leaned against it with a huge sigh of relief. Anna was waiting for her.

“How did you get away from that witch so quickly?”

“I dumped her in the middle of a debate over who was more influential to Gus Wriensler, his wife or his mother.”

Anna sighed. “I feel sorry for her daughters. It must be awful having a mother like Desmona. Elizabeth seems wary of her.”

“Elizabeth is wary of her mother learning the truth about her marriage.”

Anna shook her head in sympathy. “So tell me, what’s this big surprise you’re planning?”

“I don’t have clue,” Claire said, feeling slightly nauseous. “I made it up so I could get us away from her. But I’ll think of something.”

Admiration filled Anna’s face, and she gave Claire a shy hug. “You are a smart and wonderful friend.”

Tenderness filled Claire’s heart, because she understood what it cost Anna to give her that gesture of warm affection.

Anna lowered her lashes as if embarrassed, but a sharp knock on the door made them both leap back in fright.

Dreading the possible danger lurking outside, Claire peeked out the window. A handsome young couple stood on the porch, the man clutching a valise, the lady holding an infant in her arms. The man waved, and Claire ducked back in embarrassment. What a frightened ninny she was becoming.

She opened the door and gave them her friendliest smile.

“We saw your sign in Brown & Shepherd’s window,” he said. “We’re moving to the area and need to rent a room until we can find ourselves a home.”

“Come on, Sailor.”

Claire stood in the foyer in her boots and coat, trying to get the dog away from the foot of the stairs. He’d been standing by the newel post growling for ten minutes, staring upstairs at the room she’d rented to Mr. and Mrs. Ormand.

The dog had been fine all afternoon while Claire had visited with the Ormands. He had sniffed the baby’s blanket and tiny fingers then flopped down beside Claire’s rocking chair while she rocked the baby. She’d held the precious child so Mrs. Ormand could enjoy a cup of tea, but the instant she had given the baby back to Mrs. Ormand, Sailor’s hackles lifted.

For some unfathomable reason, he didn’t like Mrs. Ormand taking the child. He seemed protective of the baby, as if the child belonged to Claire. In her heart, Claire wished it did.

It was early evening, but the Ormands were exhausted from two days of traveling and in dire need of rest. They wouldn’t get any sleep, though, if Claire didn’t get Sailor out of the house.

She nudged him outside and closed the door behind them.” What’s wrong with you?”

He wheezed and planted his right paw on the porch floor, as if making a statement.

“I had to give her back,” she said, shooing him down the steps. But she already missed the warm, welcome weight of the baby nestled against her breast.

She waited on her porch, thinking Sailor would run to the saloon, but he sat down in the middle of the road and looked at her, as if waiting for her to catch up.

She waved her hand toward the saloon. “Go on. I can’t take you inside.”

Sailor didn’t budge.

“Oh, bother.” It was bitter cold outside, and she had to make sure Sailor was safely inside with Boyd before she could return to her cup of tea. She descended the steps, and Sailor bounded to his feet, and ran to the back of the saloon.

Claire tromped through the snow and found him sitting in front of a wide door. She inched it open and peered into what looked like a small, dimly lit storeroom filled with liquor bottles, kegs of ale, and other supplies. She considered shooing Sailor inside, but what if Boyd didn’t discover the dog? The thought of Sailor being trapped in the cold room all night made her reconsider. She stepped inside.

Sailor bounded in after her then crossed to another door and nosed it open. The sound of the tavern spilled out as Sailor slipped into the other room.

“Where’d you come from?” she heard a man say then a mixture of noise assaulted her ears.

From her position, she could see a narrow strip of the bar area. Boyd was talking with three men who were discussing spring planting. Two men sat at the bar sketching something on a large paper, debating the merits of brick versus wood to build a shelter. Despite the early hour, a man in the far corner of the room was playing a lively song on the piano, and several patrons surrounded the bar. She wrinkled her nose at the cigar smoke and the smell of ale.

The crack of billiard balls riveted her attention. She slipped her hand over the doorknob and leaned forward to peer through the opening. Half the billiard table was visible to her. Two men stood with long sticks in their hands, eyeing the table with intense concentration.

So, this was what they did here.

Somehow, it didn’t look as evil as she’d imagined. Despite Jack’s penchant for drinking, he’d never taken her to a saloon. He’d held private card games in their apartments and used her as a decoy. If he couldn’t win using her as a distraction, he would push her to the table and force her to play. She loathed those nights. Especially if she lost.

But the view before her didn’t inspire fear or disgust. It made her curious. Much of the noise was a result of having so many men in one place at one time with several active conversations going on at once. The piano added another layer of sound, as did the clacking sounds of the billiard balls. But taken individually, none of it seemed overtly rude or intrusive as it sounded from across the street.

No wonder Boyd couldn’t understand her complaint.

Suddenly, the knob beneath her hand turned, and the door wrenched farther open with a violent tug. She stumbled forward and fell against a bear of a man not much taller than herself. He locked his fingers around her arms and yanked her against him.

“Why are you snooping around our storeroom?”

It was Boyd’s nasty bartender, Karlton.

“Is spying a new tactic for you ladies?” He jerked her arms, sending a spear of pain through her left elbow. “What were you looking for?”

“N-nothing.”

“Karlton!” Boyd’s voice cut across the room. “Let her go.”

Karlton’s vise-like fingers bruised her flesh. “I’m fed up with these women meddling in my business.”

“I said, release her.” Boyd strode across the room.

Karlton didn’t obey. He wrenched her arm upward and pinned her between the hard wall and his heavy body. “You’d better back off, lady, and stop the marches.”

“Karlton!” Boyd’s eyes were fierce as he yanked the man away from her.

Karlton elbowed Boyd and grabbed the front of Claire’s coat. “Stay out of my business or you’re going to be sorry.”

Boyd grabbed Karlton’s shirtfront and shoved him against the bar, his face red with fury. “Don’t ever handle her like that again.”

“This lady is costing me money. I have accounts to settle!”

“That’s not her problem.”

“She was sneaking around the storeroom.” Karlton glared at her. “What were you looking for?”

The saloon became silent and every man stared at her with suspicion. She struggled to hold back tears of mortification and pain.

Boyd shoved Karlton away and turned to face her. “What are you doing here?”

She lifted her chin and glared at him. “I was bringing Sailor back because he’s bothering my new boarders.” Not caring if he believed her or not, she turned and bolted into the storeroom.

Boyd followed her and pulled the door closed. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his face too shadowed for her to see it clearly.

“How can you employ an offensive brute like him?” she asked, gesturing toward the bar.

“I had no idea he’d do a thing like that.” He caught her wrists and gave them a light squeeze. “Don’t lump us all in the same mold,” he said. “Ninety-nine percent of the men in that room would rather cut off their own hand than hurt a woman.”

She rubbed her elbow. “Why do I always seem to find the one percent?”

“Because you provoke every man you meet.” He shook his head and released her wrists. “Karlton’s angry, Claire. He distributes liquor to all the saloons you’ve been marching on. Your temperance cause is threatening his livelihood.”

“That doesn’t give him a right to physically accost me.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. His voice was filled with regret. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”

“You won’t need to stay with Anna and me tonight. Mr. Ormand will be there.”

“Is he capable of dealing with a man like Larry Levens?”

The young man seemed capable, although he was probably too exhausted for her to depend on. “I have my gun if he’s not.” She pushed the door open and stepped outside.

Boyd followed and halted her with a gentle tug on her hand. “I don’t mind staying, Claire.”

“I don’t want you there.” And that was that.

At Claire’s cold look, Boyd let her go. Miserable, he watched her walk off. He couldn’t undo the damage Karlton’s hands had inflicted, but he could make sure it never happened again.

Silence greeted him when he stepped back into his saloon. The men were waiting to see what he would do. The image of Karlton wrenching Claire’s arms fueled the fire in his gut, but he shoved his fists into his pockets. Pounding Karlton wouldn’t fix anything.

He strode to the bar and faced his part-time bartender. “You’re fired.”

Anger flashed in Karlton’s eyes. “She was sneaking in the back door to spy on us!”

“She was bringing Sailor back.”

“So she says. We lost six regulars this week. Eight if you count the Carson brothers who signed the widow’s pledge yesterday. I’ve lost ten percent of my sales this week with Maynard’s and Corbie’s canceling their liquor orders. I can’t afford to lose that money. I think she was here to cause trouble.”

“So do I,” said Peter Garven, a regular patron at the saloon. Others nodded in agreement.

“I don’t care why she was here,” Boyd said. “I won’t tolerate any man abusing a lady in my presence.”

“Those women you’re protecting are killing our business one man at a time,” Karlton said. “They’ve even petitioned to have our liquor license revoked.”

“No one is going to take my license,” Boyd said, but he didn’t feel as certain as he sounded. If the women could convince drunks like the Carson brothers to sign their pledge, who knew what trouble they could cause.

“Somebody’s got to stop this nonsense before it goes any further,” Karlton insisted. Several patrons seconded his argument.

“I’m sick of seeing that sea of bonnets every time I sit down for an ale,” Peter said. “We need to put a stop to this nonsense.”

“But not the way Karlton handled Mrs. Ashier,” Boyd countered, still itching to make the man pay for hurting Claire. He pulled several bills from the till and handed them to Karlton. “You’re no longer welcome in my saloon,” He faced his patrons and raised his voice. “That goes for anyone who manhandles a woman.”

The patrons complained, and Karlton slammed the cupboard so hard the back bar shuddered. Boyd clenched his fists to keep from closing his hands around the man’s throat. Everyone who frequented Boyd’s bar knew how much he cherished it. He’d built and carved the back bar with his father. They’d watched him polish the wood and clean the mirrors religiously each week for the past two years. It was the shining jewel that lifted his saloon above the ordinary. It was his pride and joy, and no one abused it without facing his wrath.

Karlton stormed out the front door, leaving behind a bar full of irritated men. Boyd took a long drink of his ale, wondering how to handle a situation that was growing so ugly. He needed to make Claire understand the mess she was creating, but she would see him as a disgruntled saloon owner, not as a friend. Talking with her wouldn’t make a bit of difference.

But he had to do something before she marched herself straight into trouble.

He needed to distract her somehow. He needed to make the temperance cause less personal to her.

If she wasn’t suffering directly from the saloons, she would have less reason to close them down. She would have less reason to consider him the enemy.

If he could divert Claire’s attention away from her ridiculous temperance cause then maybe the other ladies would lose steam and quit marching. If Claire wasn’t bothered by the noise from his saloon all week, maybe she would be more forgiving on the weekends. If her business improved, she might have less cause to want to close his saloon. And she might also have more reason to spend time with him.

* * *

Claire was sitting in the parlor with Anna, working on a quilt, when she heard the back door open. She tensed and looked up to see where she’d left the fireplace poker.

Before she could leave her chair, Boyd entered the parlor. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. His dark hair glistened with melting snowflakes. “How are you feeling?”

She lowered her lashes, not wanting him to see the truth. Karlton had hurt her with his strong hands, and embarrassed her in front of a bar full of men. “Why are you here?”

“To make sure you’re all right. Where are your boarders?”

“They’re sleeping.” His dark brows winged upward. “It’s just after supper. Rather early, isn’t it?”

“They were tired from traveling. I’m trying to keep the house quiet for them, so please go back to the saloon.” Though Boyd hadn’t accosted her in any way, she was irritated by his refusal to see the reality of their situation.

Instead of making a cryptic remark, he braced his shoulder against the archway between the parlor and foyer.

“How would you ladies like to get out of the house and go ice skating with me?”

She stared at him, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “How can you even ask after what just happened at your saloon?”

“I’m trying to apologize for what Karlton did.”

“It should have never happened.”

“I agree. That’s why I fired him.”

She was speechless—and touched. He’d protected her. He’d fired Karlton.

“Go skating with me, and I’ll close the saloon tonight.”

She exchanged a glance with Anna, who laid the quilt square in her lap. “You haven’t had an outing since the cantata. You should go. What harm will it do to get out for the evening? Especially if Boyd’s willing to close the saloon.”

With the saloon closed, she wouldn’t have to worry about the Ormands being disturbed. And if she got out of the house, she wouldn’t have to listen to their occasional noises that told her they were definitely not sleeping.

Maybe while she was with Boyd, she could convince him to close down completely. Maybe she and Anna could break down his resistance while spending time with him. Wouldn’t that be a surprise for the temperance ladies?

She straightened in her chair. It would be the perfect surprise.

With renewed purpose, she gave Boyd a decisive nod. “All right. Let me find my grandmother’s old skates for Anna,” she said, informing him that they wouldn’t be going alone.

“I’ll close the saloon while you ladies get dressed.”

Twenty minutes later the three of them were bundled in heavy coats, walking down Main Street, their feet keeping time with the clacking blades of the skates that were slung over Boyd’s shoulder. As they chatted, the heaviness of the day slowly lifted from Claire’s shoulders. Why shouldn’t she enjoy herself? She was entitled to an evening out. What harm was there in skating? Anna was with her. Boyd would act a gentleman in public.

The thought of closing his saloon made her smile.

“I’d give a night’s earnings to know what brought that look to your face,” he said, his voice intimate and teasing.

“You just did.”

A sardonic grin lifted his lips. “I guess I did.”

She inched away, unwilling to let him turn their outing into a romantic event. She wasn’t fully recovered from the kiss he’d given her in the kitchen.