Boot Hill Bride (24 page)

He squeezed her hand and winked. Belinda huffed. Randi

chose to ignore it and rolled her hand to fit more snuggly in

his. When she knew her stepmother was about to make

another snide remark, she pulled her gaze from her

husband's and turned to her father.

"How was your trip to the Badlands?"

Her father, usually very composed, sputtered into the glass

of rum held against his lip. After swallowing a couple times,

he answered, "Fine." He set the glass down, cleared his

throat, and blinked his watery eyes. "Just fine. Steven and his

wife, Lila, are remarkable people. And their home is quite

lovely." Glancing to Belinda, he added, "Isn't it, dear?"

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"Hmm, a bit unusual, but nice nonetheless," Belinda

replied as if not really interested. Her eyes, darkly rimmed

with kohl, had been roaming Howard ever since they'd

arrived.

They sat at a square table, one person per side. All of a

sudden Randi had a strong urge to make Howard switch seats

with her to put more space between him and her stepmother.

The sensation was odd, but very strong. As if he read her

mind, he did, very discreetly, scoot his chair her way a touch.

Belinda, of course, noticed and settled a disgruntled stare

Randi's way.

She let her happy grin remain on her face, it actually had

increased a mite by his actions. Well, that and the fact

Howard loved her. The knowledge was enough to make her

capable of conquering the world. Slowly, she turned away

from Belinda, back to her father. She didn't want to just blurt

out her decision and thought after a touch more small talk

she'd ease into the subject of donations.

"And their children? Ma—I mean, Stephanie says they're

very delightful."

"Oh, yes, yes they are quite delightful." Her father set his

glass down. "The little girl," his glance once again went to

Belinda, "what's her name, dear?"

"Kendra," Howard supplied.

"Yes." Belinda laid her hand on Howard's arm resting on

the table. "Yes, Kendra. Such an unusual name. Don't you

think?"

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He removed his arm, settled his hand on his leg under the

table. "No, I don't think it's unusual at all. It was Lila's

mother's name."

Randi kept smiling, delighted. She knew she was being

spiteful, but Belinda had been rather nasty over the years and

seeing the woman rebuked for once in her life was rather

delightful. Or maybe she was just so cheerful everything

about the night was enjoyable and knowing what would

happen when they returned to their apartment was the most

pleasing thought of all.

"Yes, Kendra, that's it," her father continued as if nothing

had interrupted his report. "She already rides a horse, all by

herself. And is very good."

Howard let out a low laugh. "I can believe that. Skeeter's

had her on the horse with him almost since the day she was

born."

Randi found herself wondering what kind of father Howard

would be and instantly decided he'd be a wonderful parent.

He'd been so kind and caring to her since the moment they

met, he'd surely be just as loving to their children. While

Howard and her father conversed about Skeeter's family, her

mind took a different path. She marveled at how contently

she looked toward the future, a future she knew she'd have

with her husband. It wasn't just because she felt safe and

cared for, but because it was what she desired above all

else—a life with him—forevermore.

"I'd prefer not to discuss politics over dinner," Howard's

statement yanked her back to the conversation. Randi held

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her breath, wondering what she'd missed. Had her father

asked for money? Her knees began to shake.

Belinda let out a snide chuckle. "I'm afraid, Howard, that is

quite impossible. Politics is all Thurston knows how to discuss.

After all, he's been in politics for years, he knows what

Kansas needs, and it is his foremost ambition to become the

next governor."

Howard leaned back, giving the waiter room to set a

dinner plate, piled high with a large beef steak and fried

potatoes, in front of him.

"Thank you," he said to the young man wearing a white

apron splattered with grease spots. Making no comment to

acknowledge he'd heard Belinda, he lifted his silverware and

waited for everyone else to be served before slicing into his

meat.

Randi held in the shiver rippling her shoulders. She could

all but see thick tension oozing off Howard. Why hadn't she

been listening? How much had her father asked for? After

glancing around the table, she followed suit, cut into her food,

and tried to focus on the meal. The outside crust of the beef

was charred stiff, and the inside seeped red juice. The food at

their restaurant would be considerably better, she silently

vowed as she raised her fork to her mouth. The meat was as

tough as it looked and needed to be chewed an extended

amount of time before she could swallow.

Evidently, every steak was tough because silence filled the

table as everyone chewed. It was several minutes before her

father took a sip of his drink.

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"Howard, er, Mr. Quinter, I would think you'd be very

interested in what's happening right now, especially with your

new hotel."

Howard didn't respond, just cut another slice off his steak.

Her father continued, "If the current legislatures have their

way, they'll be hitting you with a hefty tax bill. Now, the

Populist Party, we believe in a graduated income tax. With

our system you'd be allowed to keep a much larger portion of

the income your establishment takes in."

Randi glanced to Howard. Her fork paused near her lips.

He'd quit chewing, and the veins in his neck pulsated. She

squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, readying

herself to stand up to her father and his request. But Howard

spoke first.

"Mr. Fulton," he said, not pleasant in any way as he laid

down his fork and met her father's gaze with a solid, deep

stare. "If you are unable to refrain from talking politics, I'm

afraid, my wife and I will need to leave."

"Well, now that's just silly," Belinda said, once again

reaching over to lay her hand on Howard's arm.

He pulled it away. This time a crystal clear understanding

he didn't welcome her touch, but his gaze never left her

father's. Randi laid her fork across her plate, a chunk of meat

still stuck in its tines, and wondered if she glanced up if she'd

see a storm cloud hovering over the table.

"No, no dear, that's not silly," her father finally said. "If H-

Mr. Quinter doesn't wish to discuss politics, we won't discuss

politics." He waved his fork around the table. "Please,

everyone, eat your food before it grows cold."

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The silence was as thick as the meat and just as charred.

A clink of a fork, or thud of a glass being set down were the

only sounds as the meal was consumed. Everyone's plate,

minus Belinda's who'd ate as if nothing was amiss, held a

large portion of their meal still sitting on them when the

waiter removed the dishes from the table. Howard thanked

the man for the meal, though Randi knew it was half-hearted

and didn't have anything to do with the poor cooking.

Her father drew two cheroots from his breast pocket,

offered one to Howard. He politely declined, which she was

thankful for, having never liked the smell of the cigars. She

reached over and laid a hand on Howard's.

He met her gaze, and then turned to her father. "I hope

you will excuse us now, we need to get back to the hotel."

"So soon? I thought perhaps we could visit a while." Her

father's gaze never roamed to her. "I really think you'd be

interested in my reform package."

Howard pushed his chair away from the table and reached

into his breast pocket. After laying several bills on the table,

he stood and pulled her chair back.

"No, we need to leave now."

Randi rose and bowed her head in farewell. Her husband,

who was normally so relaxed and friendly, was stiff and

uptight, clearly very upset. As they walked through the dining

room, she noticed all the eyes following them and

immediately knew the churning in her stomach had nothing to

do with the meal. It was as if a storm cloud hovered over the

entire room.

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Anxious, she all but bolted out the front door when Howard

pushed it open. Randi took a deep breath, tried to chase away

the heaviness in her chest. She'd apologize for her father's

behavior as soon as they were alone. A short square man

with a printer's cap and pen and paper in hand stopped them

not two steps out the door.

"Mr. Quinter," the man began. "My name is Carl

Robertson. I'm with the
Ford County Globe
."

"I know who you are," Howard answered stiffly.

"Could you answer a few questions?" Carl Robertson

asked, licking on the tip of his stubby pencil.

"No." Howard grabbed her elbow.

Randi double stepped, trying to keep up with Howard's

long strides as Mr. Robertson followed at a quick pace behind

them.

"Mr. Quinter, how long have you been acquainted with

Thurston Fulton?"

Randi glanced over her shoulder, then back to Howard,

now almost running to keep up with him. Chin thrust forward

and lips pinched tight together, Howard continued to pull her

down the road.

After a few more attempts, Mr. Robertson gave up and

turned around, making a beeline back to the Dodge House.

Randi didn't comment, couldn't really since she was almost

breathless. It wasn't until they came to the front of their hotel

that Howard slowed his pace. A loud, ragged sigh left his

chest before he led her across the front lawn.

Once they entered their rooms, Randi drew her own sigh of

relief and turned to face her husband.

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"I am so sorry."

He glanced up.

"I wasn't listening. I'm sorry for that too." She bowed her

head. "How much did he ask for?"

"What? Ask me for what?"

"Money. How much money did my father ask you to give

him?"

He frowned.

She stepped closer, rested her hands on his jacket lapels.

"Please believe me when I say I didn't have anything to do

with it. Please."

His hesitation let her know he struggled, tried to figure out

what to say.

She stepped back, shrugged at the anxiety covering her

shoulders. "I didn't think he'd asked you for it in the middle of

dinner."

His frown grew deeper as he met her gaze.

"I thought I had time, I thought..." She huffed out air, not

really sure what she thought.

Howard's head shook with an odd movement, like he

checked his hearing.

"I didn't know Edward Keyes had paid to marry me. I

didn't know things like that happen." She turned her back on

him and continued, "I'm afraid I don't know much about

politics and such. I lived my whole life on the farm, and

Mama, well, she didn't like to talk about my father, so we

didn't. After she died, I moved to Topeka." She shrugged

again, knowing she had to tell him the truth. "I was only

there for a few weeks before I left. When he told you I was a

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hostess for his parties, he lied. I've never attended a political

gathering of any kind."

"You didn't know...you haven't—"

"Well, I'm not completely ignorant." She spun around,

interrupting him. Attempting to make herself sound a mite

more intelligent, she added, "I mean I read some things, I

know some things about our government. And I can learn

more. I can read very well." She turned about, unable to face

him. "I've just never been interested in politics. I'm sorry if

that's a disappointment to you."

He flipped her around. "Your father sold you?"

She blinked, thought about it for a minute. "Well, I guess

you could say that. But I ran away before I married him." Ice-

cold pin-pricks tickled her shoulders. "He was a creepy old

man."

"So now your father expects me to pay him the same

amount?"

"I don't know the amount. But Belinda said I had to get a

donation from you to make up for—"

He held up one hand. "When? When were you told to get

this donation?"

"When they left for your brother's," she answered, staring

at her toes, unable to meet his steely gaze.

"You haven't asked me for any money," he said.

She twirled about again and wiped at the tears trickling

down her cheeks. If she tried to talk, she'd most likely sob