Liz Ireland (3 page)

Dolly’s face fell. “Oh, no, Cecilia.”

“I could even have some of my things sent home—I’ll tell Buck to take my trunk this very evening!”

“Absolutely not,” Dolly said, shaking her head. “That room is for the laundry girl. I’ve always done the wash for my boarders. And if I pay the girl room and board, I don’t have to come up with as much cash money.”

She was right, Cecilia realized, her spirits plummeting fast. About the only thing to hope for now was that Buck hadn’t left the saloon yet. What a miserable day this was turning out to be!

Dolly giggled.

Annoyed by the other woman’s laugh, Cecilia lifted her head slowly and caught her doing it again. “I fail to see anything amusing about this situation,” she snapped.

Dolly shook her head and then laughed outright. “I’m sorry, Cecilia,” she said, breathing hard to hold back a chuckle, “it’s just...” A rumbling laugh exploded from her chest, cutting off her words. “Oh, it’s too silly!”

Cecilia bit her lower lip and waited for Dolly’s laughter to subside. “What is?” she asked impatiently.

The other woman wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh, Cecilia, I just had this picture in my head of you leaning over a washboard.”

Cecilia laughed along heartlessly for a moment—until she was struck, rather violently, by the obvious. She snapped her fingers and turned joyfully to Dolly. “That’s it!” she cried, circling the older woman in a playful little jig. “Dolly, you’re a genius! When can I start?”

Dolly wasn’t laughing anymore. “Oh, no, Cecilia, I was just joking you.”

“Joke or not, I’ll take the job.”

“But I can’t offer it to you,” Dolly countered firmly. “Your father would have my hide, not to mention yours, if I hired you to do the wash. Do you even know how to do wash? The idea!”

“What’s wrong with my doing a little work? Father didn’t mind me teaching!”

Dolly sent her a wry look that made it clear she wasn’t buying into that line of thinking for one second. “There’s a whopping difference between teaching and being a washerwoman.” She laughed again. “Imagine if your father found out you were rinsing out my boarders’ underclothes for a living!”

“He won’t find out,” Cecilia said, her usually merry voice dropping an octave. Having seized on this improbable solution, she was not about to budge.

Sensing that she was moments away from hiring the Summertree heiress into a position of manual labor, Dolly’s eyes widened in alarm. “There are no secrets in Annsboro, Cecilia.”

“I know,” Cecilia said, more brightly. “But Daddy doesn’t live in Annsboro, does he?”

B
ecause her new quarters lacked the generous wardrobe of the teacher’s room, during the next few hours Cecilia weeded out what essential items she would need for the next weeks, packing the rest to send home with Buck, who was under a strict oath of secrecy. Once Pendergast was gone, and it was her intention to make sure his departure was close at hand, she would send for her things again and be comfortably reinstated into her old room.

Dolly filled her in on her other duties; apparently, the “laundry girl” was also the cook’s helper, maid and woodcutter. But Cecilia didn’t mind hard work—not that she’d had much experience in that area—as long as it had some reward. In this case, the prize was her little room behind the kitchen.

The room, which had originally been built as a pantry, consisted of a tiny bed, a table for a washbasin and a half window overlooking the privy. Despite the heat, Cecilia immediately shut the window. So much for fresh air.

By the time dinner was served, she also discovered that the situation of her room actually put her in a double bind. The kitchen’s wood stove was not ten feet away, which, without the window for ventilation, turned her bedroom into something like an oven itself. After taking only ten minutes to freshen up for the meal, Cecilia felt a kindred spirit to the baked chicken lying on the center of the table.

When all was ready, Dolly looked proudly at her spread. She’d used her best china, which had been her mother’s, and had put little cordial glasses by each plate. “For after dinner,” Dolly explained in a prim low voice. “I thought we should welcome Mr. Pendergast properly.”

“Everything looks fine,” Cecilia said without enthusiasm. Greeting this particular guest properly, to her mind, would have entailed meeting him at the door with both barrels loaded.

Steps sounded on the staircase, as well as the
ker-thlump
footfall of Fanny Baker and her cane coming from the parlor, where the elderly widow spent most of her days. Jubal’s spinster cousin, Lucinda, quietly made her way in, her nose wrinkling nervously at the sight of the china. Lucinda was shy.

At the sound of approaching heavy footsteps, Cecilia hastily straightened her clothing and ran a smoothing palm over her hair, which she’d pulled in a high bun, much like Dolly’s, away from her neck. If only it wasn’t so hot! She would have felt much more confident meeting her adversary if she wasn’t half-wilted.

When Pendergast finally appeared, she was glad to note that he was wilted, too. Dust still showed on his brown suit, although it was obvious he’d made an effort to brush it off, and his hair was damp with sweat. He’d changed his shirt underneath that awful herringbone vest, which served to work Cecilia up to the proper level of annoyance.

More laundry.

“What a beautiful table, Mrs. Hudspeth,” Pendergast said with a gusto that surprised Cecilia. “I had no idea you were planning a feast for this evening.”

In Dolly’s modest parlor, Eugene Pendergast appeared much taller than Cecilia had remembered, and as much as she hated to admit it, he was nearly handsome. His thick brown hair had a rakish curl at the brow, if the word
rakish
could be used in context of the schoolmaster. Not only that, but his build was much more impressive than Cecilia had noticed before. This made her more suspicious still. A person didn’t develop muscles like that by reading books!

But more than anything else, his dark eyes captured her attention, eyes as dark as two glistening coals. Their gaze was intense, wary...and very much interested. A little shiver of awareness worked its way down her spine, but Cecilia wasn’t so overcome that she overlooked the tiny lines in the man’s weathered face, especially around those dark, fascinating eyes. Up close, it was clear the man had spent a great deal of his life in the outdoors.

In a dither over her big dinner, Dolly blushed and smiled and showed Mr. Pendergast his place as Fanny Baker entered the room and went directly to hers. Cecilia stood behind her own chair, anticipating the moment when her foe would address her. They awaited Mr. Walters, who, other than working at Beasley’s store and taking his meals at Dolly’s, was rumored to be something of a recluse. This label never failed to confuse Cecilia, since practically all of the man’s waking hours were accounted for and spent in public.

“I suppose you don’t think much of our town, Mr. Pendergast,” Cecilia said, irritated further that the man had yet to greet her.

“Ah, Miss Summertree.” He looked upon her as though she was an annoying little gnat that had landed behind a place setting. “I had thought you would be back on the ranch by now.” Pendergast kept his expression veiled, but his words made it clear that he had hoped not to see her.

She smiled in triumph. It was obvious he’d assumed he had turned her out. Good. “Not at all. You see, Mr. Pendergast, I’m very resourceful.”

“Then how lucky for myself and all of Annsboro to be graced with your lovely presence for...how long, did you say?”

Cecilia looked at him squarely. “Indefinitely.”

The word went down like a bitter pill. It took all the fortitude Jake could muster not to let out a weary sigh. He’d finally guessed that the man named Watkins, Pendergast’s old school chum, didn’t live in Annsboro. At least the man hadn’t made an appearance, and no one else had mentioned his name again. Maybe he was the old schoolteacher. Jake had hoped that Cecilia Summertree wouldn’t live in Annsboro much longer, either.

“So you see,” Cecilia said, smiling wickedly, “I’ll be able to help you along, just as Lysander Beasley instructed.”

He knew that nothing would have pleased Cecilia more than seeing him squirm, so Jake kept his disappointment to himself. The woman had him up a tree, but maybe it was for the best. As long as she was around, his guard would be up. Her presence reminded him that he couldn’t afford to lapse into his old self. Not for a while, at least, until he was no longer a stranger in town, or even better, when he actually left Annsboro.

Already he was praying for that day.

Uncomfortable chitchat followed until Walters finally arrived. The balding man nodded mutely when presented to Pendergast, and finally the company sat down to devour the chicken, snap beans and rolls that Dolly had prepared. Jake was happy to eat the tasty meal in silence, although he should have known such good fortune couldn’t last.

“I wish you’d tell us about your home,” Cecilia said, not two minutes into the meal. She primly wiped her lips with her napkin. “I’m sure Annsboro is a far cry from Pittsburgh.”

“Philadelphia,” he corrected.

“That’s right.” She smiled, though Jake could have sworn she looked disappointed that he actually remembered the city he’d supposedly come from. “Still, it must be a far cry from here.”

Even without having come within a thousand miles of Philadelphia, Jake knew her words to be an absurd understatement. Annsboro was a far cry from any town he’d ever been in.

Pleasant, you have to be pleasant.
Buying time, he cleared his throat and swallowed. “The chicken is wonderful, Mrs. Hudspeth,” he said, enjoying both Dolly’s warm smile and Cecilia’s expectant fidgeting across the table. Before she could pounce on him for not answering, he said, “All I can say about Annsboro is that it seems a...one-of-a-kind sort of town.”

Dolly nodded eagerly. “You wouldn’t believe how much development we’ve seen here, Mr. Pendergast.”

No, he wouldn’t have believed it. “I heard Beasley’s building a drugstore.”

“And just in time, too,” Dolly said enthusiastically. “We have nearly thirty families in Annsboro now.” She darted a glance toward Cecilia, who couldn’t keep a frown off her face at the blatant lie. “Well, in the environs, anyway,” Dolly explained.

“Dirt farmers,” Fanny Baker said flatly. Fanny had been among the first ranching families to settle the area over a decade before, and although the Bakers had since lost their land, she still retained her rancher’s snobbery toward the late-arriving farmers. “Most of them probably won’t last through the winter, but there will be more to replace them when they leave. Everyone wants their own land, even if it’s just a parcel of dust. Only the really large ranchers, ones whose lands encompass enough water, can survive out here.”

“I suppose that includes the Summertree ranch.” Jake couldn’t quite keep all the sarcasm out of his tone as he turned on Cecilia. He’d known big ranchers, and worked for them. He’d also sent one to jail, and was paying highly for it.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean that some of us don’t sympathize with the smaller farmer,” Cecilia said, bristling. How dare he attempt to insult her! What did this man from Philadelphia, if he truly was from there, know about this world?

Now more than ever, she hoped to make short work of getting this man out of town.

Dolly laughed nervously in an attempt to calm her feuding diners. “I’m afraid we’re all very opinionated here, Mr. Pendergast.” She frowned at her young friend. “Even the women.”

Jake smiled warmly. “It’s a very interesting town. I’d like to learn more about it someday.” Once again, he raised the false hope that he would be able to eat in peace.

But before he’d managed another bite, Cecilia piped up. “Well, maybe we should tell him about the Indian massacre, then.”

“Oh, Cecilia!” Dolly’s hand flew to her mouth. “Not at the table, please!”

Jake bit back a smile. Cecilia had gotten his attention, and he could tell by the way her eyes danced mischievously that she was pleased with herself. He almost enjoyed putting on an anxious Pendergast frown for the company’s benefit. It wouldn’t do to have a Philadelphia man hear about Indians without quivering in his too-tight boots. “Indian massacre?” he asked nervously.

Mr. Walters put down his fork, as did the other boarders, as if one couldn’t eat and hear about Indians at the same time. Bowing to local custom, Jake also put his fork down. Lucinda and Mrs. Baker shook their heads sadly in unison.

“This was Comanche country,” Cecilia began.

“Oh, Cecilia!” Dolly moaned. “Must you?”

“Comanches are Indians,” Cecilia explained to Pendergast, ignoring her friend. Painful as the tale was, it would be worth the telling if only she could scare the man back to Philadelphia.

“Comanches? I believe I’ve heard of them,” Jake said, straining to sustain a fretful expression.

“Right after the first ranchers came here the Comanches tried to run them off. They attacked in the morning, while the people were about their chores. Three people died, slaughtered, and several of the women had been set upon by the savages.”

Jake translated the delicate phrase to mean that the women were raped. Lucinda nearly swooned.

“One girl, twelve years old at the time, was taken captive and has never been seen again.”

“Oh, my,” Jake breathed. The scenario was all too familiar, but still chilling.

“Cecilia, enough,” Dolly entreated.

Cecilia was flushed from reliving the tale, which had always fascinated and horrified her in equal measure. “The settlers decided to name the town after the little girl, so that if she ever managed to escape, she might find her way home.”

For a long moment, the diners simply sat, staring at their plates without expression. Clearly, the girl named Ann hadn’t yet returned. Jake knew that the Indians hadn’t been banished from this land long enough for the pain and fear of raids to have subsided completely, and especially not with such a wound as Annsboro had left open. Comanche raids were brutal. Those lucky enough to live through them rarely forgot. Or forgave.

“Such a sweet girl,” Fanny Baker announced, clucking her tongue before lapsing back into silence.

“What a terrible story!” Dolly exclaimed. “Cecilia, you should be ashamed for bringing that up. Mr. Pendergast will get the wrong impression of our town!”

Suddenly, Jake remembered who he was supposed to be. Across the table, Cecilia sent him a flat, humorless smile. “I hope I didn’t frighten you, Mr. Pendergast.”

“Oh, my,” he said, rewarding her storytelling with a fretful cough. “There aren’t any more of these Comanches around, are there?”

Before Cecilia could speak, Dolly exclaimed, “Not in years! It’s been seven years since we’ve had real Indian trouble around here.”

“Thank heavens for that.”

“I still lock my doors at night.” Cecilia looked him square in the eye with a deadly earnest gaze, and strangely, although he knew she was only trying to scare him, Jake believed her. If Eugene Pendergast hadn’t been gunned down in a bar the week before, he would certainly have died right here at this dinner table, of fright. Cecilia’s strategy couldn’t have been better, but unfortunately, she had the wrong target.

After a pause, Jake gave his plate a little shove forward. “I’m afraid my appetite for this lovely food has disappeared.”

Dolly let out an exasperated sigh. “See what you’ve done, Cecilia?”

Her big blue eyes widened innocently. “But Mr. Pendergast said he wanted to know a little bit of our history.”

Their gazes met and held for just an instant. In that moment, Jake understood that Cecilia meant what she said about being resourceful. There was defiance in those innocent eyes, too, aimed just at him. No matter how long it took, no matter how many people she offended, she was determined to have his job.

Damn. Why, of all the schoolteaching jobs in all the world, did Cecilia Summertree have to covet the one measly position he needed? He had to stay put for at least a few weeks, until Gunter and Darby were assured he was good and dead. Unfortunately, during those weeks he was apparently going to be harassed by this tenacious blond vixen.

Jake never denied having as many frailties as the next man, but he’d never considered women to be high on his list of weaknesses. Now he wasn’t so sure. Mesmerized as he was by those alluring blue eyes, he could well imagine Cecilia Summertree being his downfall, his own Delilah. He would have to be very, very careful.

“Goodness, I’m full,” Dolly said with a giggle, trying to shrug off the disturbing tension at the table. “Let’s try the blackberry wine, shall we?” She walked over to get a bottle that was on the small side table in the corner. “I put this up year before last.”