Before the Larkspur Blooms (6 page)

Mrs. Hollyhock, owner of the Red Rooster Inn, had been delighted when Thom had reappeared on her doorstep beside
Sheriff Preston last night. She’d immediately poured him the lemonade she’d offered earlier, and, in return for woodcutting and help around the inn, she’d generously offered him room and board—just until he could get on his feet, so to speak. She’d also accepted Ivan, albeit a bit grudgingly and with the warning that things might have to change if he started scaring off her would-be customers with his big teeth and wolflike appearance.

“Well, go on and get yourself dressed,” she said, her eyes straying to Ivan. Thom almost chuckled when the dog seemed to duck his head. “I have your breakfast cooked and the day’s a-wastin’.”

When she’d left, Thom stood and pulled on his pants, shrugged into his shirt, and then washed his face at the porcelain bowl on the cabinet in the corner. The cool water was refreshing—and welcome. He ran handfuls of it over his short hair and dried his head with the clean towel, enjoying the luxury of fresh water in the privacy of his own space.

In the main room, a newly lit fire snapped and popped as it chased away the chilly air. Several hanging lamps glowed warmly, reminding Thom of his boyhood home. They showcased a lengthy couch he hadn’t noticed the night before. A blue-and-yellow quilt stretched across the back, and several more hung around, decorating the walls. Several chairs and two crudely made side tables competed for space on the braided round rug, the grouping as ruggedly made as the inn itself.

So welcome was the homey sight after the years spent in prison, all Thom could do was stand there and stare. Outside, a few birds chirped, followed by the sound of wheels moving past the inn toward town.

“Best get that wolf outside before he does something he shouldn’t on my floor,” Mrs. Hollyhock said, marching to the heavy front door. “Afterward, you can tie him to the rope I put out back by the woodshed. I don’t want the beast messin’ up my place while you’re at work. You understand? No whinin’ from you later on sayin’ you didn’t get my meanin’.”

Thom, still standing in the same spot, nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“No need for formality either. You can call me Violet and I’ll call you Thom, and we’ll get along jist fine. There’s also a few house rules I forgot to tell ya last night. No drinking spirits in your room. No cussin’ or bein’ belligerent. Absolutely no muddy boots. Keep your bed made and don’t leave any of your personal belongings out here.” Her arm swept the room. “I’ll feed ya and house ya and wash your beddin’. Your clothes are your own responsibility. You can use my kettle, or if you’re feeling wealthy, take ’em to the laundry in town.” Finished, she pulled open the large door with both hands.

Ivan looked up at Thom questioningly. His tail moved slowly back and forth.

“Understood—Violet.” As he exited, Ivan stayed close to his side. The guards at Deer Creek had nothing on the undersize, no-nonsense sentry that was Mrs. Hollyhock.

With Ivan tied up outside, Thom seated himself at the table, set with two place settings. He hadn’t seen another guest, and he wondered if someone new was coming. Maybe Violet herself hadn’t eaten yet? Dang, she was making him nervous—ironic, given he’d just been released from a prison filled with killers and thieves and guards with guns. He stared at the napkin folded on his plate.

She poured his coffee. “Take milk?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Violet.”

“Yes, ma’am, er—Violet.”

A moment passed and then she laughed, a sound resembling a rattling cackle, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

When he looked up into her face, she winked. “I ain’t been known to bite, Thom. At least not too hard.”

He let go the breath he was holding and smiled. “That’s a relief. I was starting to wonder.”

“I’ve jist been testing ya a little. Having fun at your expense, you might say. I wanted to see if you’d sass me or tell me to go to
the devil. I heard you had a mean Irish temper but wanted to see for myself if it were true before believing it.”

That didn’t take long
, Thom thought.
Dwight up to his old business?

She went to the stove and returned with a bowl filled with cinnamon-and-butter-covered mush, four slices of bacon, and a thick piece of bread on a side plate. The mouthwatering sight played havoc on his empty stomach. Since coming home, seemed like the more he ate the hungrier he got.

“But,” she added as she placed his breakfast in front of him, “I twern’t joshing about the hairy beast outside.” Her eyes were stern. “Now, before you run off, I’d like a day’s supply of firewood chopped, enough to do some laundry. Then if you’d please fill both kettles out back with water, I’ll be set for my day. I’m sure you noticed the well kitty-corner the left wall.”

Thom nodded his understanding and picked up his spoon. She went back to the stove. “While you were out, I put some clothes in your room. A pair of britches, a shirt, and a fairly new hat. A shifty feller, sneaking out without paying, left ’em behind.” A loud clatter filled the air as she muscled the heavy pan into a tin bucket. “If ya change into ’em after your chores, I’ll give the ones you’re wearing a good washing—they can use it.” She held up her finger. “But jist this once, mind you. I ain’t no maid.”

No one ever did join them for breakfast, but with so many chores to do Thom didn’t give it another thought.

A bit tired, but thoroughly satisfied with his first day of unchaperoned work in years, Thom surveyed Main Street from the front door of the livery, taking in the busy inhabitants as they went about their lives. Directly across the street, the Bright Nugget, and to its right, the sheriff’s office, seemed quiet. The boy he’d met his
first day smiled and waved, then kicked his can with a
thwack
and ran off in pursuit.

The sun felt good. His eyes drooped as a languid bliss seeped into his muscles after the day of hay sheering, cleaning stalls, and grooming horses. There was much to be said about working with animals. Even more to be said about being free and master of one’s own ship. A bud of hopefulness sprouted in his chest.

Thom’s exhaustion vanished the moment he noticed Hannah step out the door from the Silky Hen a block away and start down the boardwalk toward the livery. On her way, she paused at the mercantile window and looked inside.

His gaze ran the length of her, from her face to the boots that poked from beneath her ankle-length dress, back up to the bright-yellow bonnet that covered most of her hair. A few wayward wisps shimmered like golden sassafras in the late afternoon sun. Longing warmed his belly as he acknowledged she’d transformed from a skinny little lass into a beautiful young woman. He took a moment to admire her loveliness.

Spotting him, she waved. As she got closer her cheeks blossomed into a pretty show of pink.

“Hannah,” he said, tipping the hat Violet had given him.

A bashful little grin moved her lips upward. “I was hoping I’d run into you today, Thom.”

He felt suddenly shy. “Were you?” Lovesick was an understatement for what he’d felt for Hannah Brown as a kid all those years ago, although he’d never told anyone—most certainly not
her
. He was poor Irish. The Browns were quite well-off. A mountain, three prairies, and a desert lay between them, something Dwight never let him forget.

He gestured to her feet. “Did I just see you limping?”

“No,” she responded too quickly. Her cheeks darkened further, reminding him of his ma’s cherry-topped buttermilk cake. “You must have imagined it.”

“Where’re you off to?”

Her smile broadened and her eyes twinkled, giving him the impression she was up to no good. He remembered that well. She had been almost as mischievous as he had been, way back then. In the summer, just the mention of wading had her stripping off her stockings to follow the boys into the stream.
Are you still a free spirit, Hannah?

“I’m delivering a few loaves of bread to the mercantile. We make them, put them in the store, and split the profit with Maude. She has a standing order for three loaves on Monday and another three on Thursday.” Hannah pulled back the blue-checkered cloth on the basket she carried. “After that, I’m going to the town meeting.”

“But the mercantile is back there, next to the restaurant.”

She sputtered, embarrassed. “Well, I’m going there next. Maude was busy when I looked in the window.”

“You mean ole prune face?” he teased.

“Thom, stop!” she admonished, and then softly laughed. She glanced about. “I’m too old for that kind of tomfoolery anymore. Maude is my business partner, of sorts. And I’ve grown up. All that silly talk is behind me.”

“As it should be, I guess. But you’re still the Hannah I remember.” It was true. Just not the skinny little wisp of a girl part. Hannah Brown—
Hoskins
, he corrected himself—was a beautiful, desirable woman, capable, he was sure, of breaking his heart all over again.

“Irish flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Donovan,” she teased. “Before we know it we’ll both have lines on our faces and our bellies will protrude out to here.” She stuck out her arms, basket and all. “Life goes by in a blink of the eye.”

He grinned, enjoying this not-so-chance meeting even more than a hearty lamb stew and colcannon, his favorite mashed potatoes and cabbage dish.

“How are you making out at the Red Rooster? Is Violet treating you well?” she asked, her gaze lowering briefly to his lips.

“I can’t complain. The bed is soft, and she’s keeping me fed.” He patted his stomach.

Hannah’s smile fell away. “It’s such a shame about her chickens. She was very upset when coyotes got into her henhouse last week and killed them all. She loved those birds like family.”

“I didn’t know.”

Hannah nodded. “Day after tomorrow is her birthday. She’ll be eighty-five. Can you imagine?”

Thom whistled. “I didn’t realize she was that old by the way she gets around.” He glanced about, remembering that he had something he wanted to tell her. “Listen, Hannah, I want to thank you for looking after my mother after my pa died,” he said. They’d been talking for a few minutes, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before they drew the attention of the upstanding citizens of Logan Meadows, who wouldn’t want Hannah fraternizing with the likes of
him
. Word was out. People were curious. Scared. This morning, a woman with a small child in tow had ducked into a doorway when she’d seen him coming. His stomach clenched and the sunny mood he’d been feeling dissolved.

“The sheriff told me that you, as well as several others from the community, saw to it that she had enough to eat and wood for her stove. You also cared for Ivan. That was kind. I’d like to repay you for your time and expenses when I can.”

Hannah took a surprised step back. “Repay me?” Her expression darkened as her brows dropped down over her snapping sapphire eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. Katherine was my friend. Friends take care of each other, especially in this community. Since Anne Marie had married and moved away, I was happy to do what I could. I have a serious mind to be mad at you, Thomas Donovan. I felt closer to her than even my—” She shut her mouth and glared. Rising up on tiptoe, she pointed a finger in his face. “You should be ashamed!” She straightened her skirt as if she needed a moment to corral her temper. “You certainly know how to ruin a nice conversation.”

“Thom,” Win called from inside the livery. “Mr. Cooper is around back and needs to stable his horse. I’d do it but I’m right in the middle of shoeing. Thom? You out there?”

“Yes, sir,” he called back, the title slipping out before he could stop it. Win had insisted he use his given name, but addressing everyone as sir was a hard habit to break. He felt his face warm.

“Go on, Thom. We’ll talk another time.” She took a step past him and stopped, her clean floral scent wafting around him like a wreath of spring flowers. She turned back. A soft smile had replaced her frown, her anger all but gone. “Perhaps you’d like to come to supper this Sunday? It’s been way too long—”

Thom was touched—and tempted. But between Dwight, who he was certain would be itching for any reason to start trouble, and the blasted bullet in the back of his skull, waiting to drop him when he least expected it, he was the last person Hannah needed in her life to complicate things. Now wasn’t the time to get involved with anyone.

“Sorry, Hannah, but I’m busy.” Even as he said it, he winced at the hardness in his tone. It was easy to see his words had hurt. He felt bad, but there was no help for it. He and Hannah had been from two different worlds back then, and that hadn’t changed a bit.
Want to head back to the clink?
Dwight’s words rumbled around in his head, giving him another reason to stay away.

Never one to run from a fight, she just stared. Her nostrils flared just a tad as she held his gaze. “Just like that? You won’t even think about it?”

“Said I have a previous engagement.”

“You do not and you know it.”

The wounded glimmer in her eyes almost made him change his mind. But even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. Sticking to his guns, he slowly shook his head.

“Well, that’s clear enough for a turkey on a rainy day. Please forgive me for extending my hospitality. God forbid you get the wrong idea about my wanting to welcome you back to town.” Her
back was rigid as a fence post and her dark lashes shuttered her eyes, making it impossible for him to gauge her feelings. She’d come for him. Sought him out. He knew it. She knew it. Her heart was right there on her sleeve for the entire world to see, just like it had always been. He longed to explain himself, so it wouldn’t hurt so much, but if he did that, her tenacity would kick in and she’d be back at him working to change his mind. The Hannah who’d been his champion for as long as his memory stretched back, even from her spindly childhood, as if she’d understood small-mindedness even then—that Hannah deserved so much better than an ex-convict whose days may be numbered.