The Lawman's Bride (8 page)

All those girls at the Arcade wanted exactly the same thing and yet he’d picked her. “Louis.”

“Yeah.”

“Just so you know. I’m not her. I’m not the wife you’re looking for.”

His expression didn’t fall. “You could be.”

“No. I couldn’t. And I wouldn’t feel right letting you think otherwise. This is as honest as I get. I’m tired of all the questions as to why I don’t accept invitations. The reason is because I’m not looking for a husband like most of the other girls. If you’re shopping for that wife, you need to look back there.” She gestured over her shoulder. “If you want to spend time together without thinking of it as something romantic or a prelude to more, I’m your girl.”

His gaze scanned her face, perhaps searching for some weakness, something to give him hope. Finally, he nodded and glanced away.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she hurried to add. “You’re handsome and smart. And a really good catch—for someone else.”

“That’s a grand comfort.”

With nothing more to say, she shrugged.

“Well.” Louis stopped beside a tree and used his thumb to pick away a loose chunk of bark. “You surely didn’t give me much of a chance.”

She didn’t respond.

“But you didn’t let me make a fool of myself either, so I’m thankful for that.”

She could have done it easily. Played him all the way to the end—wherever that would have been. She was trying to change her life, end the deception, but it was impossible. Every day was a deception. As honest as she’d been with Louis about their relationship, everything else about her was a lie.

A shameless, glittering lie.

The Social Hall was one enormous room with a polished wood floor and open rafters. A platform stretched across one corner, and men of diverse ages and sizes played instruments with varying degrees of talent.

Benches had been built the entire lengths of the south and west walls, and the east wall held tables for food and drinks. The décor changed with events and decorators, and tonight the remnants of July Fourth remained, with red, white and blue streamers sagging from the overhead beams and paper stars dangling in the breeze.

Louis was attentive and charming as well as an excellent dancer. Sophie felt admiring eyes on them as they traversed the floor in time to the music. She’d been instructed by the best dance tutors in New York and Philadelphia, and Louis was obviously no stranger to the steps.

Out of breath, they paused and Louis went to pour punch.

“Sophie, you are positively magnificent,” Emma gushed from beside her.

Amanda and one of the other girls joined them. “Mr. Tripp is handsome and incredibly agile on his feet,” Amanda added.

“Will you teach us?” Emma asked. “To dance like that?”

“Oh, yes, please say you will,” Rosie MacPhee begged.

“Yes, all right,” Sophie agreed.

A figured loomed over Sophie’s shoulder and the marshal’s soul-deep voice was unmistakable. “Glad to see you’re sufferin’ no ill effects from your brush with death, Miss Hollis.”

“Please, Marshal,” she replied. “You make it sound far more dangerous than it actually was.”

“Is it true that Sophie ran into the fire, Marshal?” Emma asked. “She doesn’t want to tell us about it.”

“It’s true,” he replied. “I’m afraid old Sam wouldn’t have made it without her help.”

“She’s very brave.” Admiration was clear in Amanda’s voice.

“And an accomplished dancer.” The marshal indicated the dance floor with a nod.

“She’s going to teach us,” Rosie told him.

The marshal raised one brow speculatively. “Pennsylvania farmers must hold some fancy barn dances.”

“Pennsylvania farmers possess all kinds of skills,” she replied.

The music changed, and a few dancers left the floor while others took their places.

“And you, Marshal,” Sophie said with a long glance. “Are you here to dance?”

Chapter Six

A
t that moment Louis returned with Sophie’s cup of punch. His expression dimmed when he saw the man standing beside her. “Marshal Connor.”

Clay seemed to size him up with one dark glance. “Mr. Tripp.”

Sophie sipped the sweet fruity liquid.

Marshal Connor glanced from Sophie to Emma. “Would you care to dance, Miss Spearman?”

Emma took his arm immediately. “I’d love to.”

They moved into the crowd, and she looked back over her shoulder with a wide smile.

“I wouldn’t mind sitting for a few minutes.” Sophie glanced meaningfully at Rosie and gave Louis a hard stare. “Perhaps you’d like to dance with someone else while I rest.”

“Oh.” Louis understood her intent. “Will you dance with me, Miss MacPhee?”

Rosie blushed and accompanied him to the dance floor.

Amanda and Sophie chose seats along the wooden benches that lined the wall.

“I still haven’t heard word of my cousin’s baby,” Amanda told her.

“You’ve saved your passes?”

“Oh, yes.” After a moment, Amanda leaned close. “I met someone the other day.”

“Who?”

“A man, silly.”

Sophie turned to study her. “Yes?”

Amanda was absolutely glowing. “He’s very handsome and charming. Kind, too, with impeccable manners. He asked me to have dinner with him at the hotel.”

“Did you accept?”

She nodded. “He thinks I’m smart and pretty.”

“You are smart and pretty,” Sophie told her.

“It’s nice to have a man say it.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” She patted Amanda’s hand. “You will have to tell me all about it.”

“I will.” A moment passed. “I don’t think my father would approve, however.”

“Why not?”

“He’s a few years older than I am.”

Sophie didn’t want to sound discouraging. “That probably means he’s established,” she said. “He already has a profession and some of the worldly things he wants, and now he’s looking for more in the way of a special person so he can share those things.”

“I knew you’d understand.” Amanda gave her shoulders a squeeze.

Sophie caught a glimpse of the marshal with Emma. The girl smiled as though he’d caught a star for her. Another couple blocked them out, and Louis and Rosie waltzed into their view.

“Mr. Tripp is a nice man,” Amanda commented.

“That he is. He says a famous photographer will be here soon. A man taking pictures to document the Harvey Houses.”

“I would never have had the chance for a job like this if not for the Harvey Houses,” Amanda said. “A job where a woman is treated well and respected is a true phenomenon. Not to mention pay equal to a man. Why, I make as much as any of my step-brothers. How about you?”

Sophie agreed with a nod. “I’m saving for my own business.”

“I admire you and your family,” Amanda told her. “I’m sure if my father didn’t need the money, I could be saving up, too.”

“What you’re doing is admirable,” Sophie said.

Amanda shrugged. “Most of the girls send their earnings home. It’s a lot of money when you’re struggling to keep a family fed.”

“Your father’s fortunate to have you.” Sophie gave her an assuring nod and turned to watch the dancers.

A wailing sound caught their attention over the music, and Sophie realized the wind had picked up. Within minutes rain pelted the roof overhead. The sound always reminded her of a night long ago and a man she prayed never to see again. It took all her fortitude to swing her thoughts to the present. She possessed an abundance of fortitude.

“Do you think it’s a tornado?” Emma asked as the marshal escorted her to the benches.

“No, I don’t think so,” he answered.

She wore a worried expression. “I heard all about tornados.”

“Thanks for the dance. I have rounds to make, so I’ll be movin’ along. Good night. Miss Pettyjohn. Miss Hollis.”

“Marshal.” Sophie tried not to watch him go.

Louis returned Rosie just as thunder rumbled overhead. Emma shrieked and scuttled closer to the other females for comfort.

They stood to form a protective circle around her and Amanda patted her back. “It’s all right. Are you afraid of storms?”

“Maybe a little.”

“It’s just rain,” Sophie told her. “Nothing to be afraid of tonight.”

Clay paused beside the door and turned back to observe the townspeople gathered in the Social Hall. The four waitresses from the Arcade huddled together on the opposite side of the room. As usual, they were among the most well-dressed women. He didn’t know much about fashion, but he knew the girls made enough to dress well and spend their fair share in Newton. The shopkeepers and dressmakers loved them.

Funny how much he resented that nice Tripp fellow just for escorting Sophie. It was nothing to him who either one of them kept company with. Was it? This nagging feeling was too much like jealousy for comfort.

And he didn’t like the way the wind had come up. Most likely the ruffians would be trapped in town overnight if they didn’t ride out soon: he should probably move on to make rounds of the saloons.

Rain pelted his hat and shoulders as he made his way to the temporary office. He shook water from his hat and studied the brass ring of keys on a nail for the hundredth time, still trying to determine how Willard DeWeise had escaped the cell and a gruesome death that night, and how that fire started. He had a tough time letting the puzzle go.

Thunder shook the windows and rain clanged on the stovepipe. The reek of damp ashes emanated from the stove.

Boots struck the boardwalk and John Doyle stuck his head through the doorway long enough to shout an alarm. “Marshal, there’s trouble over at the Red Ace!”

Clay grabbed a rifle from the case, jammed his wet hat on his head and locked the door before running back out into the downpour. All of their slickers had been lost, and he hadn’t thought to purchase a new one yet.

An hour later he had three drunks in the two makeshift cells and a fire lit in the stove. He took off his shirt, wrung it out and hung it on a nail.

After getting out his cleaning materials and rags, he cleaned and oiled all three of his guns.

Sam dragged himself from his spot by the heat with a grunt and stood at Clay’s feet.

“You gotta go out
now?
Don’t that just figure.” Clay didn’t bother with the shirt, he just grabbed his hat and walked the dog out beside the building. Old Sam could barely make it back, and Clay had to boost his rump up the last step and over the sill.

He found a length of toweling that didn’t smell like oil, dried his hair and chest first, then dried the dog best he could. By now Sam was shivering from the cold rain.

“There you go, boy. Lay by the fire and you’ll warm up.” After rubbing the mutt’s damp ear, Clay stood. He’d had mixed feelings ever since the night of the fire. Feelings that made him feel like a blackened soul. Of course he wouldn’t have wanted Sam to die a frightened and painful death, but maybe just being overcome by smoke wouldn’t have been such a bad way to go.

Cowardly, that’s what his thinkin’ was. Mean and cowardly. Clay knew what was best for his old friend. Knew what had to be done. He’d been putting it off for nearly a year while Sam got weaker and lost more of his senses. He would take Sam by the doc’s place first chance he got.

“I’m a big coward, boy,” he told the dog. “You wouldn’t have made me suffer if it was the other way around.”

“Let me the hell out of here!” Gil Tucker shouted. “These apes stink!”

“You’ll get out in the mornin’ after you’ve slept it off,” Clay called back.

“Who the hell kin sleep in this place?”

“I didn’t tell ya to get drunk and shoot up the saloon,” he answered. “Now you’re just gonna hafta make the best of it.”

The man cursed and flopped on the bedroll he’d been given. “Hell of a place for a man.”

Clay stretched out on one of the bunks at the front of the room. The city marshals had decided among them that there would be someone present at all times whenever a prisoner was being held. Clay had told Hershel to go on home to his wife. Clay didn’t have anyone waiting for him, after all.

Lightning brightened the interior in sporadic bursts, followed by darkness and a clap of thunder. Come to think of it he wouldn’t mind someone waiting for him when he got back to his place. Wouldn’t mind it at all.

“Oh Sophie, he’s a perfect gentleman. He knows about art and literature and music. He’s been to Spain and to London, and has even met the president. He’s been to exciting places and done so many things.” Amanda leaned across the cutting table and squeezed Sophie’s arm. “And I think he’s rich.
Really
rich.”

They were in the spacious sewing room of the dormitory early Sunday afternoon, and Sophie cut a salmon-colored sleeve around a pattern piece for Amanda’s new brocade dress for fall. “What does he do?”

Amanda took straight pins from her mouth to reply. “Some sort of investments for cattlemen. He’s planning a trip to Switzerland, can you imagine?”

Sophie merely raised her brows with a nod.

“He’s staying at the Strong Hotel. That’s where we had dinner. He ordered champagne! Have you ever tasted champagne? It was bubbly.”

“It sounds as though he went all out to impress you,” Sophie replied.

“I
was
impressed,” Amanda assured her. “But Sophie, he likes me. He thinks I’m funny and interesting. Isn’t that the most outrageous thinking?” She bubbled with laughter. “Why, he’s the one who’s absolutely fascinating. And handsome. Not to mention polite. Did I say that already?” She pressed a hand to her breast. “He’s almost too good to be true.”

Exactly what Sophie had been thinking. “You be very, very sure of his intentions before you accept more invitations,” she warned, wanting to say more, but regretting she sounded like a paranoid mother.

“He’s a nice man, Sophie.”

“He
seems
like a nice man. You don’t know a man’s true character right up front. Not everyone is what they seem at first.”

“Sometimes you say things like you know bad people firsthand,” Amanda told her.

Sophie laid down the scissors and picked up the sleeve she’d cut. “What do you mean?”

“I just get a feeling that there are things you don’t say.”