Love in the Balance (14 page)

“Yes, so don’t get caught out there without permission. That German gets angry.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Don’t want to make any trouble.”

“I’d appreciate it. Stepped into a hornet’s nest already this morning.” The sheriff’s mount nipped at their horse and was rewarded with a tail swipe in the face. “A man’s body was found just south of the creek on Tillerton’s land. A shooting.”

“Shooting?” Molly gasped. “Who?”

“Saul Nimenko. He moved here recently.”

“Saul Nimenko?” She leaned forward to look at the lawman. “Saul Nimenko, northwest part of Prairie Lea? Sixteen dollars and twenty-two cents annual property tax?”

His badge reflected the moonlight.

“How well do you know Mr. Nimenko?”

Bailey narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, how well do you know Mr. Nimenko?”

“Never met him, but his tax payment was delivered to the office last month.”

“And you happened to remember the amount?” Bailey wasn’t buying it.

She sighed. “Does 324 Cibilo Street mean anything to you?”

“That’s my address!” Sheriff Colton said.

“Twenty-five dollars and fifteen cents.” She smoothed her skirt.

“You’re wrong there, ma’am. It’s twenty-four something.”

“That was last year.”

The sheriff let a stream of tobacco fly across the dead grass. “I best have a talk with Mr. Travis.”

As curious as she was about the body found on Anne Tillerton’s land, Molly had faced enough tragedy for one day. The freezing rain was going strong by the time they reached Lockhart. Looking for warmth, Molly moved closer to Bailey, but he scooted in the opposite direction and stayed there until they reached the boardinghouse.

Would Carrie see her driven home in disgrace? Molly watched the windows of Mrs. Truman’s anxiously, knowing the girl must wonder what had kept her so late on a Wednesday night. The horse halted in front of the gate, and as expected, a lamp appeared through Carrie’s parted curtain. Molly blinked back the tears that threatened to reappear. Her rival would offer her no sympathy. Her father’s attack would hold no interest for her nosy friend compared to her conspicuous arrival.

Bailey said his good-byes to the sheriff, but the man refused to depart.

“I think I’ll wait to see Miss Lovelace safely inside.”

So he hadn’t forgotten. Bailey climbed down and lifted her valise over the side. Taking her hand, he helped her find her footing and escorted her to the porch, all under the watchful, bloodshot eyes of Sheriff Colton.

Bailey didn’t release her arm until they stood before the door.

“Are you going to be all right?”

“Don’t leave,” she whispered.

“I don’t have a choice.” He stole a glance over his shoulder.

“I need you. Come back after he’s gone.” Molly rung the handles of her valise, dreading the empty room she’d be exiled to until morning. “Or even better, I’ll sneak out and meet you.”

“You’d better not. I’ve been rescued from my folly once already. Let’s not test God any further.”

She hung her head. Once again she’d soiled his conscience. He was right to keep his distance. Trouble followed her like goslings after a goose. But what did he mean? Was he giving up? They might have been foolish, but her decision remained intact. She chose Bailey, no matter what the circumstances. They would find a way. They must.

“You best get inside. You’ve been in the cold too long already.”

Should she tell him, right there on the porch? Right in front of the sheriff and an eavesdropping Carrie? Should she beg him to marry her before she made a mistake worse than the one the sheriff had saved them from?

When she didn’t move, he twisted the knob and held the door open. Carrie hopped back, barely spared a hit when it swung wide.

“Is that Bailey? Molly, where have you been and what’s the sheriff doing?” She held her wrapper tightly together, slippered foot tapping.

Molly groaned. With one last searching, pleading gaze at Bailey, she straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and marched inside to take her medicine.

The next morning found Bailey at Reverend Stoker’s, wishing he’d volunteered to help out at the local saloon rather than with the parson. It would have been easier on his conscience. He hadn’t spilled his guts yet, but shame was eating away at him.

“Glad the cold spell blew through quickly. That kind of weather isn’t compatible with my old bones.” Reverend Stoker removed his coat and stretched under the tentative afternoon sun. “Once we get this step rebuilt, my wife will have no trouble getting off the porch. Every time she walks out the door, I’m reminded of my shortcomings.” He laughed. “And those papists think clergy shouldn’t marry. Cowards, that’s what they are.”

Cowards? Bailey took the plank the reverend held out to him and found the pencil mark showing him where to saw. He had the courage. Nothing he wanted more than a little wife and family. Nothing he wanted more? Was that his mistake?

“Talked to Deacon today,” Stoker said. “He told me about Thomas’s attack. You were there?”

Bailey leaned into his work and wondered how he was going to sidestep the stinking piles of the conversation. “Yeah, I was there. Figured he’d be walking the streets of gold today, from the looks of it.”

“God is merciful.”

I hope so.

Bailey plied through the board, sending sawdust flying in all directions. The scrap end of the plank dropped to the ground. Surely helping the reverend would absolve some of his guilt in God’s ledger.

Stoker pushed his white hair out of his eyes and straightened. “How’s Molly doing?”

“She’s taking it hard, no doubt about it.” He didn’t say any more. Bailey dropped nails into his palm and nodded at the hammer. “We can chew the fat later. Don’t want to keep you from your work.”

A sly smile played at the corners of Stoker’s mouth. “You are aware of my calling, aren’t you? This is my work.” The man watched him a moment before kneeling again and taking up the hammer. “Whenever you’re ready. Something’s bothering you, and I’m guessing it’s more than concern over Thomas Lovelace’s health.”

Taking a board from the scrap pile, Bailey stood with handsaw in position. What could he say? How could he confess the same mistake twice? Dropping the saw and board, Bailey dusted the sawdust off his trousers, unsure what words were fixing to come out of his mouth.

“I should’ve known better, but I volunteered to drive her home.”

“Aww,” Stoker’s eyebrows rose, “but you wouldn’t lay a hand on a lady under those circumstances. No, the Lovelaces trust you, and for good reason.”

Bailey turned away, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I don’t know about that. Even with Mr. Lovelace stricken, Mrs. Lovelace still had reservations. I had to give my word.” The handshake with Nicholas. Bailey’s stomach turned. He’d looked the man square in the face.

“Don’t be upset with Mrs. Lovelace. It takes time to earn trust. You might be eager to restore that relationship, but you can’t blame her for being careful. Besides, she gave you another chance, didn’t she? Prove yourself trustworthy and the next time won’t be as hard for her.”

Bailey turned desperate eyes to him. He had tried to seduce a woman while her father lay on his sickbed. What kind of man would do such a thing? He sat on the sawhorse. His throat tightened painfully. Pulling one knee to his chest, Bailey bowed under the guilt.

“But I was tempted.” He shook his head. “Here she is crying and worrying about her pa, and I . . . I wanted to kiss her.”

Wanted? His cheeks flamed at the half-truth, but even that tidbit was humiliating. The whole story would be unbearable. Bailey waited, hoping Stoker would bring the fire and brimstone, hoping the man would make him pay.

“Son, resisting temptation is a victory. You were in a delicate situation. The fact that you managed to withstand is admirable.”

“No, I didn’t . . . I mean . . .” His foot hit the ground. He picked up a hammer and swung it into his palm. “I feel rotten over the whole deal.”

“I don’t think you should be so hard on yourself. You’re a good man.”

“No . . .” He looked into Stoker’s honest face and couldn’t bring himself to destroy the trust he saw there. “If I’m good, then I’d hate to know what the bad ones feel like, because I’m miserable. I’ve tried to forget her. I’ve tried to stay away from her, but I can’t. Must be why the Bible says it’s better to marry than to burn.”

“Will she marry you? I thought she had objections.”

Oh, Bailey could recite her objections like the Lord’s Prayer, but when they made their appearance last night, he’d done his best to drown them out.

What did she think today? Did she hate him for his advances? Did she have the same regrets?

“Not sure which way she’s leaning. ’Course, she’s tore up about her pa. She’s worried about his health, and then there’s the business, too. Dr. Trench says he can’t work anymore. You know Mr. Lovelace. How long will he live if he can’t go to the sawmill?”

Reverend Stoker wiped his brow. “How’s your stint at the shoemaker’s going?”

“It’s slowing down. Mr. Hernandez can’t fill any more orders before Christmas, so there isn’t any commission coming in.” Bailey shrugged. “Fine with me. Boots are necessary and all, but if I wanted to fit shoes I’d do farrier work for the blacksmith.”

“Sounds like the Lovelaces could use a hand.”

Bailey chewed this over. Sure enough. Nicholas couldn’t stay in Prairie Lea forever. Someone needed to keep an eye on the office while Mr. Lovelace recuperated. Someone he could trust. Someone who was almost family.

“That’s not a half-bad idea. Kinda shamefaced I didn’t think of it myself. Of course, it’s not going to help me forget Molly.”

“You’re not going to forget Molly. Not until you’ve made an honest attempt at winning her. You seem to think God’s brought you together. Maybe it’s time to buckle down and find out. Besides, I know an empty parsonage in Prairie Lea that a fellow could claim as long as he keeps lending a hand at the church there. It’s only half a mile from the mill.”

Would Stoker be matchmaking if he knew what a lowdown snake he was talking to? But maybe he was right. Maybe working for the Lovelaces would convince them that he could take care of their daughter. It couldn’t hurt to try. And the sooner he got a ring on her finger the sooner he could make amends.

10

To Do List:

• Buy some lozenges for sore throat.
  
• Send money home to Father.
  
• Find Bailey.
  

Heat poured out of the woodstove next to Molly’s desk. The winter might produce days cold enough to justifying wearing her new wool walking suit, but inside the building she was suffocating. That morning she’d felt so chilled she feared the goose bumps would permanently pucker her arms, and now she could barely breathe. She loosened the straps on her clerk’s apron and tried to fan herself with the bib, but the effort increased her discomfort. She’d failed to convince Edward that the Texas winter would not get any colder. For such an amiable man, he wasn’t easily swayed. Every time she commented on the heavy clothes he’d commissioned for her, he laughed and hinted that she would need them soon.

Molly dipped her pen into the inkwell and neatly scripted the next tax payment on the appropriate line in the ledger. She wasn’t going anywhere. Seeing her father nearly die made home more precious to her. Traveling the world in Edward’s private railcar didn’t hold the allure it once had. Molly would cling to the familiar and hope the security she’d always known as a child wouldn’t vanish.

Until last week she’d been taught to think of security in terms of riches. Security meant getting what you wanted. Security meant having the funds to solve your problems. But sitting in her parents’ room, watching her father fight for every breath, she realized that the security she sought had little to do with business and everything to do with relationships.

Molly had tried to catch the eye of wealthy men and had been moderately successful, but something was missing from the exchange. Just as her parents targeted Mr. Pierrepont for his wealth, she sensed that Mr. Pierrepont viewed her as an accessory, as well. He didn’t love her. How could he? She did her best to hide who she was when he was around. Would he still come courting if she’d railed at him in church like a tinker’s wife? Would he be insulted if she found mistakes in his ledgers? Would he kiss her when her cheeks were chapped and her nose was cold?

Molly slid off her tall stool and went to fetch the correct ledger from the shelves. Hugging the heavy book to her, she inhaled the newly bound scent that still lurked within the pages.

Where was Bailey? Every time the door creaked, she jumped in anticipation, but he hadn’t made an appearance yet. What was keeping him? Could she have sent him a clearer message? She glanced at Carrie, fearful that she could read her thoughts, but Carrie was paying her no mind.

Molly eased past the girl’s desk, amazed Carrie hadn’t ferreted the complete saga from her. If only Bailey would marry her quickly, before she had second thoughts. Her love for him might be a liability when written down in fresh ink, but she was done with calculating. It didn’t matter who you married—one wrong step and you could still end up as poor as a church mouse. You might as well marry for love.