Love Inspired Historical July 2015 Box Set: The Marriage Agreement\Cowgirl for Keeps\The Lawman's Redemption\Captive on the High Seas (42 page)

Each time Garrick advanced to the next round, he hoped he might gain Tolley's respect, however grudging, even though he still intended to settle the matter of Gypsy's injury. Yet, after each round, the younger man muttered insults to him when no one else was close enough to hear them. Now, with only three of them competing, Garrick steeled himself to the possibility that Tolley might try to distract him. Anyone who would injure a horse or strike a man during a race, simply for the sake of winning, couldn't be counted on to display good sportsmanship.

Suddenly, winning this event became even more important to Garrick than the horse race. Someone must show this young ruffian his behavior wouldn't be tolerated. Garrick would gladly volunteer for the task.

Once again the targets were moved farther away. Grace, taller than many men and as boisterous as all of her sisters, took the first turn. Using a Winchester '76, she fired the repeating rifle, quickly blasting away two of the shards but missing the third. Garrick had brought his single shot .577 Snider-Enfield to America almost as an afterthought, yet its accuracy never failed him. Neither did it fail this time. Three shots, two quick cartridge reloads at the breech, three hits.

He didn't intend to look at Tolley, didn't intend to speak to him, but his eyes seemed to turn of their own volition while his mouth blurted out, “Your turn,
Bartholomew
.”

A mistake. A terrible mistake. Tolley's temper exploded in an oath. He took his place on the firing line and raised his Winchester. Shaking the way he was, he'd never hit his targets. And he didn't.

Garrick's heart sank like a stone. He'd expected poor sportsmanship from Tolley, but he'd been the one to distract his opponent.
Lord, forgive me.
Now he'd never be able to befriend the disagreeable, hot-headed younger man. An apology must be offered straightaway.

He saw Tolley stalk away from the match and started to follow him, but others crowded around to congratulate him, and he was unable to move. Several yards beyond the mob, he saw Rosamond and Beryl strolling from the field arm-in-arm. He'd won this event, including the blue ribbon and a ten-dollar gold piece, but apparently a kiss wasn't part of the prize. And perhaps in winning the shooting match, he'd forever lost something far more valuable: Rosamond's good opinion.

* * *

The mouth-watering aromas of a side of beef and a whole hog sizzling over open pits had tantalized everyone since morning. Rosamond was no more resistant to the temptation than anyone else. After a fine day of competitions and fun, and with memories of dinner long forgotten, supper commenced. Lines once again formed at the food tables, plates were piled high and everyone hoped for a piece of one of the prize-winning pies or cakes to finish off the feast.

Rosamond hadn't bothered to look for Garrick that afternoon, partly because she'd been teased all day about kissing him and partly because she'd heard him goad Tolley at the shooting match. No wonder her brother disliked the Englishman. What else did Garrick say to him when she wasn't around?

Even if he'd never before insulted her brother, calling him by his given name was sufficient to incite her brother's rage. Tolley always hated being called Bartholomew. Never mind that he'd been named for their paternal grandfather, an honor because the old gentleman had served as a judge and later spent two terms in congress. When Tolley was born, she'd just begun to talk and couldn't pronounce the long, complicated biblical name, so she'd called him Tolley, a nickname that had stuck. Only Father called him Bartholomew, and only when her brother displeased him. Garrick's words, delivered in that arrogant, aristocratic English accent, were clearly meant to goad Tolley, and the ploy had worked. After such meanness, how could she respect or even like Garrick?

Then again, growing up with three brothers and knowing countless hard-riding cowboys, Rosamond had learned that most men had a strong sense of competition and usually goaded each other with a fierce exchange of words. Maybe in the heat of the shooting match, Garrick's true nature had finally emerged. Maybe he wasn't such a perfect gentleman, after all. That was hardly her concern. No matter how much she'd been attracted to him, no matter how polite she must be to him socially, she had three important reasons for dismissing any romantic notions toward him: Tolley, Beryl and her own call to teaching.

Even as she made up her mind about the matter, Rosamond saw Garrick striding toward her across the park. How handsome he looked in his new burgundy shirt and the bolo tie she'd impulsively bought for him. Her traitorous heart jumped. With no little struggle, she turned in the opposite direction and joined the other women for washing dishes. As she took her place between two of the ladies who'd disapproved of her actions earlier, she noticed that Garrick was now headed in the opposite direction. Nosey Mrs. Casper harrumphed, and busybody Mrs. Norton muttered, “Now, that's more like it, missy.” Obviously, they'd been watching her. Everyone watched the Northams. Like Caesar's wife, each member of the family must be above reproach, must set an example of proper behavior. All the more reason for Rosamond not to give in to her foolish sentiments toward Garrick. At the thought, her heart ached with disappointment.

* * *

Garrick had no intention of following Rosamond to the dish-washing tables. The two women standing on either side of her looked like harpies ready to fly in and devour her. Sweet girl that she was, she smiled at the women as she set to work. Such grace was hard to find, especially when Rosamond's younger brother was more inclined to answer sharply. Genteel Mrs. Northam had taught her daughter well.

After considering the situation all afternoon, he'd decided he must discover the true nature of his feelings for Rosamond. When she'd kissed him and he'd returned the kiss with a decidedly unfamiliar depth of feeling, he'd been ready to call it love. Perhaps it was, but how could he be certain? From the moment he'd seen her in the Denver train station, he'd admired her. Even their disagreements over the hotel had soon dissipated and even generated his respect for her intelligence. Before returning to England, he must discover whether he loved her and whether she felt anything for him. As in the children's fairy tales his governess had read to him, the knight must go on a quest, then return to claim the hand of his lady love. Could Garrick do that?

He needed a plan, just as he'd planned how to build the hotel. Only this time he'd be building the rest of his life. If Rosamond cared for him, perhaps she'd be willing to wait until he earned Helena's dowry. Then he'd take a job, any job, to support her. He'd even consider asking Percy to hire him as his man-of-all-business. He simply
must
make a way for his dreams of a life with Rosamond to come true. He couldn't speak to her now, so he'd wait until the dance and try to claim every set with her. That would be his first step. If all went well, he'd plan the rest of his strategy for courting her.

At sundown, Mr. Chen and his family lit the brightly colored paper lanterns they'd strung around the park and on Main Street. The musicians took their places in the bandstand and began to play their lively tunes. As everyone gathered in the park, Garrick felt as nervous as a schoolboy. The bandmaster summoned everyone to assemble for the opening dance, the Virginia reel. Perhaps it was similar to an old English country dance. Or perhaps a Scottish reel. Garrick could manage either of those.

He spied Rosamond approaching the grassy area cropped short for the dancing. She'd changed into a green silk dress appropriate for evening wear, and even at a distance, he could see how the dress brightened her green eyes. If he were a wealthy man, he'd buy an emerald necklace and earrings to complement those enchanting eyes.

Nolan Means also strode toward Rosamond, his intent clear in his focused gaze. Garrick reached her first.

“Rosamond, you are a vision of loveliness.” Garrick sketched a bow that would have made all of his titled ancestors proud. “May I have the first dance?”

“Miss Northam, may I have this dance?” Nolan moved into her line of vision and gave a similar bow.

Rosamond looked from Nolan to Garrick and back again. “Mr. Means, I believe Garrick spoke first. I'll save the next dance for you.”

Her acceptance filled Garrick with relief, and he resisted the urge to gloat. Instead, he gave Means a polite nod. “Rosamond.” He held out his arm, she set a hand on it and he led her to the dance area. Her rosewater perfume wafted gently into his awareness, teasing him with a pleasant, heady sensation. “I must confess I'm not familiar with the Virginia reel. Do forgive me if I misstep.” He gave her an impish grin.

Her returning smile seemed forced, and his heart dropped. Was she angry with him about his regrettable words to Tolley? If so, why had she accepted his request to dance? As soon as possible, he must tell her how wrong he'd been to blurt out those thoughtless, provoking words.

“The caller will tell you what the steps are.” She waved a hand toward the bandmaster. “Just listen, do as he says and watch me.”

“Ah. Very good.”

As she took her place in the line of ladies and he took his with the other men, her stiff smile faded. The music began, the caller instructed the head couple to move forward and bow, followed by several variations of turns, ending with the two weaving in and out of the opposite lines. By the time Garrick and Rosamond moved up to become the head couple, he felt fairly confident he was making a good showing.

They reached the end of their progression down the line of dancers, and, as they swung around and started back up, something caught his foot and held it fast. He found himself spinning and falling, flailing his arms in a desperate attempt to regain his balance. Instead, he landed on his back with a
whomp!
The air went out of his lungs, the world spun and everything went black.

He awoke to find himself seated on the grass, a crowd around him, and Doctor Henshaw examining the back of his head. Where was Rosamond? Was she all right? Had she fallen, too?

“Blacked out for a minute, didn't you?” The doctor moved his index finger back and forth in front of Garrick. His eyes instinctively followed the movement. “You'll be all right. Why not sit out this next dance.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Garrick permitted the doctor to help him to his feet and over to the wooden steps to the bandstand.

Across the way, he saw Tolley, a smug expression of satisfaction on his face, a lariat in his hands. The blighter had somehow tripped him with that rope! Just as he'd done at the branding. Before he knew what he was doing, Garrick charged across the space and grabbed Tolley by the front of his shirt.

“Having fun today, are we?” Garrick's right hand fisted, his arm ached for action, but he sent up a desperate prayer for restraint.

Tolley struggled to twist free, and his eyes widened when he couldn't. He obviously hadn't expected Garrick to possess the strength to hold him. “Let go of me,” he growled.

Despite cries from the gathering crowd urging him to give Tolley the thrashing he deserved, Garrick released his adversary. With Tolley's own community wishing him ill, Garrick couldn't bring himself to add to his shame. Further, Garrick saw some of the boys from Sunday school nearby, the same boys who were building Rosamond's school. He mustn't do anything to diminish their regard for Tolley.

“This is for kissing my sister.” Tolley swung at him, knocking him to the ground for a second time.

His jaw stung, but with help from others, Garrick leapt back to his feet and planted a facer on the younger man. “That was for Gypsy.”

Tolley stumbled back as though shocked, his Stetson flying off.

“What's going on here?” Colonel Northam's unmistakable voice boomed over the clamor of the mob. “Bartholomew, what have you done?”

“What have
I
done?” Tolley shook with a rage far worse than at the shooting match. “Why don't you ask your Englishman what he's done?”

The Colonel didn't even glance at Garrick. “Boy, go home. Now.” His commanding voice brooked no response. Eyes blazing, Tolley grabbed up his hat and slapped it against his leg before striding away toward the improvised corral beyond the church. The tormented look on his face cut into Garrick far worse than his stinging jaw. Couldn't he do anything right in regard to Rosamond's younger brother?

A stunned silence fell over the park for a few moments. The fiddle player timidly began to play, and soon the other musicians joined in. People milled about as though trying to remember what they'd been doing before the unpleasantness began. Someone remarked that the fireworks had started early. Someone else laughed. Garrick's jaw ached.

“Fire!” Dub Staley, one of the younger hotel workers, raced into the park, terror in his eyes. “Fire at the hotel!”

Chapter Twelve

H
olding a tight rein on her emotions, Rosamond helped Mrs. Winsted pass out new tin pails from the general store. With the last of them distributed, they joined the two lines passing buckets of water one block from the city's fountain. Rosamond pushed into a spot between Nate and Rand near the hotel's double front doors.

To her dismay, Father stationed himself just inside, next to Garrick. Father was too old for such exertion. Yet as each filled bucket reached him, he flung the contents onto the blaze with as much vigor as Garrick. Still the flames climbed up the studs and licked at the ceiling beams. If they couldn't contain the fire on the first floor, the entire inside of the structure might collapse. How had it started? Was it deliberately set?

“Father,” she shouted over the clamor of the crowd, “can't we open the pipes to the artesian well?”

He didn't seem to hear her, but Garrick responded. “The flames are blocking the way to the valves.”

His soot-streaked face wore a stricken expression that reflected her own feelings. This was
their
hotel,
their
project. Neither one of them could bear to see it destroyed.

“Garrick, no!” Father shouted.

In spite of his command, the Englishman poured the next bucketful of water over his own head and clothing and then ran toward a smoldering pile of rubble. He leaped over it and disappeared behind a wall.

Horror gripped Rosamond. Had her words incited this foolish bravery? She'd never forgive herself if something happened to him.

Moments later, water gushed down from above, spraying over the blaze and making quick work of dousing it. Nate, Rand and several other younger men used wet burlap bags to beat down the last of the flames.

To Rosamond's relief, Father at last surrendered his place and stepped out into the open air. He bent over and coughed hoarsely but didn't appear to be in distress. She looked beyond him but couldn't see Garrick. She grabbed her nearest brother's arm.

“Nate, Garrick's back there.” She waved a weary hand toward the black interior of the building.

Nate gave her a brief nod. “I'll find him.”

Before he could take three steps, Garrick emerged from the darkness, coughing into a soot-stained white handkerchief.

Without a thought, her heart bursting with joy, Rosamond flung herself at him with a sob. “Garrick, you're all right.”

His arms around her, he gave her a crooked smile. “I am. Yes. Thank you.” His smile disappeared. “Where's Tolley?”

The implication of his question felt like a slap in the face, the feel of his arms hotter than the fire. She jerked out of his embrace and stepped over to Father, whose coughing continued.

“Father, you must sit down.”

Mother appeared from somewhere and rushed to his side.

“Oh, Frank, I was so worried about you.” Her face and clothing bore telltale smudges, giving proof that she'd also been in the thick of the battle.

“Now, Mother, don't fuss.” Father put an arm around her. “Have you ever known me to stand by and let others do the hard work?” As the two of them walked away, he glanced down at her dress. “Now, you, young lady, didn't mind when I said to stay back...” The rest of his words were lost in the noise of the dispersing crowd.

“That's enough fireworks for one day.” Nate spoke to the people still waiting to learn whether they were needed to finish the job at hand. “Maybe we can use them during Harvest Home.”

“Sounds good to me,” Mayor Jones said. Many others voiced their agreement.

“A shame about your lovely frock.” Garrick moved into her line of vision on the dimly lit street. “Will the soot wash out, do you think?”

The gentle concern in his voice and eyes could have swept her off her feet, had he not already implied that Tolley had started the fire. Was he truly so oblivious that he couldn't see how his question about her brother affected her? With so many people close by, she could hardly make a scene about it. Instead, she forced a smile and spoke as cheerfully as she could.

“As long as the hotel is repairable, my dress doesn't matter.” She glanced at the damaged building, which his actions had saved from destruction. “You were very foolish to run into the back.” Truth demanded more. “And very brave.”

Now his expression turned slightly boyish. If he were a cowboy, right about now, he'd say, “Aw, shucks.” Instead, he shrugged. “Ah, well. Couldn't stand by and see all of our hard work go up in flames.”

“No.” She couldn't think of anything more to say.

Nate gathered several men, most of them hotel workers, to shovel the smoldering rubble out onto the street, while others checked for any signs of remaining embers that could reignite the fire. Water still dripped from above, making a heavy, sticky mess of it all.

Garrick set a gentle hand on Rosamond's shoulder. “We can take care of the rest of this. Why don't you go home with your parents and get some rest?” He waved a hand down the street toward the churchyard, where they'd all been celebrating just one short hour ago.

She nodded and turned away, but he caught her arm, again with a gentleness that touched something deep in her soul.

“Please don't worry,” he said. “Before you know it, we'll make everything right as rain. Let the workmen make all of the repairs before you come back. All right?”

She stifled a tiny sob trying to escape her. “All right.”

But it wasn't all right and never would be. Other than her responsibilities in completing the hotel rooms, she'd have nothing more to do with this Englishman who could treat her with such refined manners while trying to destroy her vulnerable younger brother.

* * *

Garrick watched Rosamond walk away, and with her went his heart. Yes, it was true. He did love her. Tonight had confirmed his feelings. And when she'd flung herself into his arms, he'd seen in her eyes that his love was reciprocated. At that moment, he'd been overcome by a great urgency to set things right with Tolley, or at the least, find out why the younger man disliked him. Then he and Rosamond would have no barriers to their tendresse, to use the French expression his governess had been so fond of. Rosamond must have experienced the same urgency, for when he asked about Tolley, she'd turned away to look for her brother, and then been distracted by her father's coughing. Or so it seemed. Garrick prayed he'd read the events correctly.

In the meantime, despite the fire, he felt sanguine about the entire situation. Beginning tomorrow morning, he'd set to work clearing out the last of the rubble right alongside the workmen. Circumstances may have forced him to end his cowboy lessons, but surely Rosamond would appreciate his willingness to labor at the hotel with his own two hands. Even the formidable Colonel Northam hadn't been above fighting the fire, nor had Nate and Rand. Mrs. Northam also appeared to have jumped into the fray, so to speak. Garrick could do no less if he expected to be fully accepted by this family.

Oddly, Tolley hadn't fought the fire, although Garrick suspected he'd seen it. After leaving the dance upon his father's order, he'd probably ridden back toward the hotel before heading south to Four Stones Ranch. By that time, the entire town would have been hurrying to stop the conflagration.

Suspected.
Without the slightest desire to do so, Garrick suspected Tolley of starting the fire. A shiver coursed down his spine. He must think this through carefully. The first time he'd seen Tolley since the shooting match was after he tripped him during the dance. They'd traded blows—Garrick touched his jaw and felt the painful, swollen reminder. Then Colonel Northam had ordered Tolley to leave, and he'd walked away in the opposite direction from the hotel. Straightaway, the young workman had burst into the party with news of the fire. If Tolley did start it, he would have done so before coming to the dance and tripping Garrick. Given the violence of the flames when Garrick raced to the hotel, was that plausible?

Yes, entirely plausible. Otherwise, why hadn't Tolley returned to help? He simply couldn't have missed the flames.

Sick at heart, Garrick worked until the last man went home before he trudged back to Mrs. Foster's house alongside Roberts.

“Good show, sir.” The valet had the effrontery to slap Garrick on the back. He then gulped loudly. “I beg your pardon, sir. I fear being among these rustic Americans has dulled my sense of propriety.”

“Never mind.” Garrick grunted out a weary laugh. “You can make amends by saving this shirt. I rather like its color.”

“Yes, yes. It's quite the thing.” Roberts coughed in his nervous way. “I believe I can make the necessary repairs to both of your
cowboy
shirts.”

Something in the way he said “cowboy” didn't quite match the disdain he seemed eager to convey. But Garrick was too exhausted from the day to question him. In any event, Roberts had showed himself as brave as any in combatting the flames. Such a joint effort formed a camaraderie between master and servant. Things would settle back into their proper form on the morrow.

* * *

The warmth of the summer breeze blowing in through Rosamond's window alerted her to the lateness of the hour. Her clock confirmed it: half past eleven. She'd overslept, yet she didn't feel rested. As much as her back and arms ached from carrying buckets of water to put out the fire, her heart ached even more.

Last night as Father drove the surrey home, few words had been spoken. Then, despite his weariness, when they reached the house, he'd summoned Tolley to his office, and the two had argued into the night, their voices loud, but their words unclear. Still smarting from Garrick's insinuation that Tolley started the fire, Rosamond couldn't wait to speak to her younger brother and voice her confidence in him, perhaps bolster his spirits after Father's dressing down. What fault had Father found in Tolley this time?

She noticed that Beryl's everyday brown skirt and white shirtwaist were missing from the wardrobe, so she dressed quickly and went downstairs in search of her friend. Beryl was in the kitchen helping Mother and Rita prepare dinner.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Mother's cheery tone sounded a bit forced, and her smile appeared strained.

“Good morning, all.” Rosamond grabbed a paring knife from the utensil drawer to help Beryl peel vegetables. “Why didn't anyone wake me up?”

Beryl offered no response, and her concentration on digging the eyes out of a potato seemed a bit too focused. Rita's work at the stove also required silent, serious attention.

Mother heaved out a weary sigh. “You'll find out soon enough, my dear. Tolley's gone. He—”

“Gone?” Rosamond dropped her knife. “Gone where? Did he run away?” What a foolish question. A grown man didn't run away from home. He just...
left
when things became intolerable. “Why did he go?” She couldn't subdue her anger.

Mother's eyes reddened. “Your father...” She cleared her throat. “It was time.”

Rosamond choked back a sob. The grief in Mother's voice broke her heart. After all, Tolley was her beloved son, just as Nate and Rand were. She'd miss him just as much as Rosamond would.

“Did he say where he was going?” Wherever it was, he'd manage. He would do well. At only twenty years of age, he could build a house, run a ranch, do whatever he set his mind to. Everyone who knew him could see that. Everyone except Father.

Mother seemed surprised by the question. “Why, yes. He took the morning train to go back east. To Boston. To Harvard.” She spoke as if Rosamond should know this.

Stunned, however, Rosamond couldn't speak for a moment. At last, she inhaled a deep, painful breath. “Harvard? Why on earth?” Tolley loved being a rancher. He'd never wanted to go back east to school.

“Your father arranged it.” Sadness permeated her whole being.

Finally stifling her indignation, Rosamond decided not to press Mother any further, but she'd speak to Father once she'd gained control of her temper. Right now she must encourage Mother.

“Well, I'll certainly miss him.” She forced out a dramatic sigh. “He could've at least said goodbye to me.”

Mother gave her an understanding smile. “He came into your room and kissed you on the forehead but said he didn't have the heart to wake you.”

“Oh, no! I thought that was a dream.” Now her tears came in earnest. “I'd have hugged him to pieces if he'd just wakened me.”

Mother's chuckle came from deep within, a good sign she was dealing with Tolley's departure as well as could be expected. “Then that should give you your answer. You know how our menfolk dislike emotional scenes.”

Rita and Beryl offered timid giggles, each sending Rosamond a consoling look.

She nodded her thanks. “Maybe Nate and Rand can help us finish the schoolhouse.”

“It just needs painting,” Beryl said. “You and I can do that.”

Again, Rosamond nodded. This would give them something to do for the time being. Garrick had asked her to stay away from the hotel until he'd arranged for cleanup and repairs. Staying away from him would be easy enough. If he hadn't goaded Tolley yesterday at the shooting match, her brother might still be home instead of exiled to Boston to attend a school in which he'd never shown even the slightest interest.

* * *

The day after the fire, the resolve of the workers greatly encouraged Garrick. Or perhaps his own enthusiasm for the cleanup generated their fervor for the task. At the beginning of the project, these American men had found amusement in his use of proper English, but they'd always been respectful of him as their superior. His willingness to get his hands dirty brought a different kind of respect, which gave him a feeling of camaraderie such as he'd never known. How different from most of his Oxford classmates, who offered friendship only to those with wealth and social position. Oddly, Garrick found himself regretting that he must return to England as soon as the hotel opened for business. Perhaps Uncle would permit him to stay awhile to ensure the success of the enterprise.