Wicked Wyoming Nights (13 page)

Eliza turned fiery red. “I’m not in love with him. I am grateful for his help, but I never thought of anything more.”

“Then think of it now,” Ella commanded. “It stands to reason he won’t remain a bachelor for the rest of his life. He’s got to marry and raise a son to leave all those cows to. Wouldn’t it be better if he married you, who loves him whether you know it or not, instead of some heartless little minx like Jessica’s Melissa?”

“But Melissa is only sixteen.”

“She’s nearly seventeen, and in two years she’ll be almost nineteen, prime marrying age out here. Cord’s not a day over thirty, so in two years they’ll be just about right.”

“But Mrs. Burton wouldn’t let her marry an ordinary cowboy.”

“Cord’s not ordinary, and he’s got a good business head on his shoulders. Who better could Sanford Burton find to run that bank when he dies?”

“But he’s never mentioned marriage.”

“Lord, child, hasn’t he built you a school, emptied the hills of every brat he could find, and dared the whole of Johnson County to lay a hand on you?”

“Y-yes.”

“What more do you want?” Ella concluded dramatically. “He never paid that kind of attention to any female around here, and I can promise you plenty have tried to catch his eye.”

“You should hear what Lavinia’s girls say about him,” Lucy said with a giggle.

“I don’t want to hear a word about those painted Jezebels,” Ella said crushingly. “Now you make up your mind what you’re going to do, Eliza, or tell him to go throw his rope over some other heifer.”

“I couldn’t do that!” Eliza gasped, truly horrified.

“You’ve got to. It isn’t fair to keep a fella on tenterhooks without giving him some idea which way you mean to jump. If you don’t want him, you’ve got to tell him so’s he doesn’t go and make a fool of himself. You finish getting yourself prettied up,” Ella said, abruptly changing the subject. “Lucy and I have to finish up our baskets.”

Eliza’s brain was whirling so fast she was hardly aware of their departure. She was stunned by the notion Cord might be in love with her. She kept remembering the times Cord had come to her rescue, from the day at Bear Creek until he had given her the school and students to fill it. “The only thing he hasn’t done for you, you stupid girl, was talk Mrs. Burton into the picnic,” she said aloud. “And I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find he had a hand in that too.”

She sat down, dazed by the possibilities this new light shed on his intervention. No wonder the ladies of Buffalo regarded her with reproachful glances. She blushed. Nobody would believe that it had never occurred to her—she wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to know she was quite so naive—but her uncle was no better. If he had even suspected Cord wanted to marry her, he would probably have gone after him with a gun.

Her heart constricted painfully at the thought of Cord lying dead in some gulch or hanging from a tree, and she knew then she was already in love him; it had probably started that day at the creek. Oh, Lord, how could she fall in love and not know it? Why hadn’t she realized he was the
only
man besides her uncle she’d ever been completely comfortable with? Now she knew why she’d been in such a state that day he came by the school, and why she had thought of him every day since.

Suddenly her heart skidded to a halt with a sickening lurch. Suppose he didn’t feel the same way about her? What if he really
was
just trying to be polite? The doubt was like a knife thrust to her heart, but she had to face the possibility. After all, he’d never actually
said
anything. What if someone had told him everyone in town was expecting them to announce their engagement any minute? She couldn’t, she
wouldn’t
, allow him to be tied to her if he didn’t love her just as much as she loved him.

She would clear the air tonight. She would tell him she could never have gotten the school started without him, but people were beginning to talk and it might be better if they weren’t seen together so often. That ought to set him free without throwing cold water in his face. She didn’t want to discourage him if he
did
want to see her, but she wasn’t going to have him feeling under obligation to her.

Hot metal bands seemed to be tightening themselves about her heart, squeezing it until she thought she would die. What if he was relieved to discover she hadn’t interpreted his kindness as anything more than a desire to help a young lady? It would be too much to discover she was in love with him only to learn he regarded her as nothing more than a friend.

It was a good thing she wasn’t singing tonight. She suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to burst into tears. There’s no use in crying before there’s any need, she told herself. Besides, Lucy will never forgive you if you get tear stains all over your face.

She would keep dry eyes if it killed her, but oh, please, let him like her just a little bit.

Chapter 10

Upwards of two hundred people were crowded into the schoolhouse yard when Eliza arrived, their wagons and buggies forming a backdrop against the limitless Wyoming horizon. Eliza was nearly the last to appear because Ira didn’t want her to go at all.

“But I’ve
got
to be there. How would it look if I stayed home after asking all those people to give money to the school?”

“I don’t give a damn about those people or their school. You’re a fool to waste your time on a pack of ungrateful brats.”

“I still have to be there,” Eliza said firmly.

“Then we won’t leave until late. Having a lot of cowboys hanging about getting ideas won’t do the saloon any good. You’re wonderfully popular with everybody, and I want to keep it that way.”

“Then you ought to thank Mr. Stedman.” Eliza hadn’t meant to say anything so certain to enrage her uncle, it just popped out before she realized what she was saying, but when Ira exploded with a tirade of harmless curses, it struck her with numbing impact that she had the power to say something her uncle didn’t like and not fear him. It was a small thing perhaps, but so important her mind leapt with excitement. It was like chains falling away; for the first time in her life she tasted freedom, and it buoyed her spirits so she didn’t care if they were late.

There were no unmarried girls in sight when they reached the schoolhouse, but the porch was nearly covered with baskets. “At last” sighed Mrs. Burton, relief and reproof in her voice. “I had begun to fear you did not mean to attend.”

“I’m sorry to be late” Eliza mumbled, and put her basket down with all the others.

“You’re here, and that’s what counts,” Mr. Burton said as he motioned the crowd to get quiet so he could begin the raffle. “We can’t rightly get started until everybody’s been paired up,” he said with forced heartiness, “so we’ll start with the wives and husbands.” It was obvious from the widespread grumbling that some in the crowd had hoped to be spared a few hours of domestic togetherness, but Mrs. Burton’s mouth was folded and pressed into an expression no one could misunderstand.

“And just so you won’t think you can get away with bidding a quarter, I’m going to start with ten dollars for Mrs. Burton’s basket,” Sanford announced as his wife held up a prettily decorated basket large enough to hold food for a dozen people. “Now how much will you bid for your wife’s fried chicken, Fred?” he called to one of the town merchants as Jessica held up a second basket smaller than her own. The man responded with five dollars, a bit more than he had intended to pay, but Mr. Burton refused to let him go until the poor man, embarrassed by the public nature of the event, also bid ten dollars. The message was unmistakable, and the bidding progressed rapidly, but not as quickly as the feeling of gaiety fled. Even two dollars was a sacrifice for some of the homesteaders.

“Now we come to the fun part, bidding for the unattached ladies. You married men step back so the single fellas can come up to the front row. I don’t want anybody bidding nickels when a better view would encourage them to come up with dollars. Bring out the little dears, Mrs. Burton.”

Maintaining her stony front, Mrs. Burton beckoned to the cracked door and the girls, penned up against their wishes, poured out, their eyes quickly adjusting to the afternoon sun as they tried to pick out the young men they hoped would bid for their company. Melissa Burton immediately planted herself at her father’s elbow, almost forcing him to auction her basket first. She waited with an air of self satisfaction while her father raised a basket fully as large as her mother’s and commanded the crowd to “loosen up your wallets. Who’ll start the bidding at five dollars? Come on, Joe,” he called to the son of the livery stable owner. “You’ve got five dollars.”

“Not anymore,” the boy whispered angrily. In this manner the bidding was relentlessly pushed forward until the luckless Joe, forced to bid fifteen dollars by a glare that threatened his father’s credit at the bank, committed himself to Melissa for the afternoon.

But Melissa didn’t seem any more pleased than her escort. She had discovered Cord Stedman at the back of the crowd and her young woman’s fancy had shed any lingering interest in boys. When a discreet whisper from a friend informed her he was rich as well as notorious, her infatuation was complete.

“Now where’s the little lady who’s responsible for our school?” Eliza was pushed forward.

“That’s Belle Sage,” exclaimed one cowboy who didn’t know of Eliza’s double identity. Quite a few others must not have known either, for at the mention of her name, the circle became thronged with eager faces crowding closer to the porch. Mr. Burton had never heard Eliza sing, but he seized on the chance to exploit her reputation.

“Ain’t she the prettiest little songbird you’ve ever seen?”

“And she can cook and keep house,” Ella whispered loud enough for Cord to hear. He had steadily elbowed his way to the front but didn’t show any sign he had heard Ella. Several around him did, though, and the excitement continued to grow.

“Who will open the bidding at five dollars?” An overeager cowboy opened at ten, but before the ripple of laughter had faded the bid had reached twenty-five dollars with no sign of stopping. It paused at fifty, but Mr. Burton was cut short in the midst of a flowery tribute by an arctic glare from his wife.

“Who’ll give me sixty?” coaxed Mr. Burton. “We can’t let a pretty girl go for such a paltry sum.”

“Sixty dollars ain’t paltry,” shouted one incensed cowboy. “That’s nearly two months’ wages.”

“Sixty dollars.” Cord’s entry into the bidding caused a ripple of excitement. He’d never been known to seek the company of any female, or to spend a nickel on anything except his ranch, yet here he was breaking both rules at once.

“Sixty-one,” yelled Ira, enraged Cord would dare seize on a civic occasion such as this to appropriate Eliza’s company.

“Sixty-five,” responded Cord without hesitation.

“Sixty-six,” Ira countered defiantly.

“Seventy.”

“Seventy-one.”

“Seventy-five.”

“Eighty.”

“Eighty-one.”

“Eighty-five.”

“Ninety.”

“Ninety-one,” Ira answered growing hot under the collar.

“One hundred dollars,” responded Cord, holding Ira’s eye with an unflinching gaze. The bids had come too fast for Mr. Burton, and the crowd fell silent. The protagonists watched each other, one with ironic coolness and the other poised between anger and stinginess.

“One hundred and one,” Ira bid, but the words nearly stuck in his throat.

“A hundred and five,” Cord countered immediately.

Every eye turned to Ira; every ear waited for his next bid. He had turned this into a personal duel and now he was being forced to continue or back down publicly. Several times he made up his mind to bid, but the rational part of his brain balked at what it saw as a waste of money.

“Come on, Mr. Smallwood,” coaxed Burton. “You don’t want to see your niece carried off by a rancher. Think of what the cowboys and homesteaders will say. Come on, just a little more.” Ira glanced up at Eliza standing ramrod still and then at the crowd.

“One hundred and six,” he shouted, but the words came out in a strangled whisper.

“One hundred and ten dollars. Cord enunciated each word carefully, and the slump of Ira’s body told the crowd he could bid no more.

“If there’re no more bids, the pleasure of Miss Smallwood’s company goes to Mr. Cord Stedman” Burton stated, not expecting anyone to top such an absurd figure. “You can pay the town treasurer.” Before the crowd’s open-mouthed gaze, Cord unbuttoned his shirt pocket and took the necessary bills from a thick fold as casually as if they had been ten dollars instead of a hundred and ten. Then he took the picnic basket handed to him by Mrs. Burton and turned to Eliza.

Eliza had dreaded the possibility her basket would be bought by a total stranger, and had been relieved when Cord made his first offer, but she was mortified by the angry desperation with which her uncle had pursued the bidding. It was bad enough to be at the center of attention because she was the school teacher, but to have her participation turned into food for gossip was dreadful. As the bids had risen and she’d seen the crowd’s excitement building, she’d shrunk from the ordeal of publicly sharing her dinner with Cord.

One of the girls, momentarily falling victim to her demon of jealousy, gave Eliza a little push when Cord held out his hand, and Eliza reached out to keep from falling. To the crowd, it must have looked as if she was so anxious she’d run toward him, and Eliza turned crimson with shame and anger. She knew there was no hope of passing it off lightly. As one woman sapiently observed, “No woman can blush like that and have a clean conscience.”