Caden's Vow (17 page)

That was good. Maddie grabbed an apron off the hook.

“Rather than telling you, why don’t I just show you?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A
WEEK
LATER
Maddie was exhausted.
What Antonio had said was true—whatever bread she baked was gone before half the
evening was over. She couldn’t keep up with the demand. If she had more oven
time, she might have been able to, or even if she’d had more space to work in,
but in the Salingers’ cramped kitchen, there was only so much she could do. If
she had a place of her own, though, her baked goods would be the real gold.

She fingered the money in her pocket. Part of her deal with the
Salingers was she got free meals. She hadn’t spent much of the money Caden had
left her for food, so on top of that she had the percentage of receipts from her
baked goods. She didn’t know if it was enough to open her own business, but it
might be a start.

Once she had the thought about starting her own business it
wouldn’t let go. A home of her own. A future of her own. She remembered the
phrase
I was going to
that had haunted her life for
so long. Her own “going to” list sat completely neglected: start a business, buy
a house, travel the world. All that took money. Money she didn’t have. Money
she’d never have if she stayed as she was. Money she
might
have if she took a chance.

Maddie clutched the new money in her hand and looked out the
window of her hotel room at all those people going to all those places with all
that purpose, leading lives of which she had always been envious. She came to a
decision. She was tired of being on the outside. It was time she did something
about it. She left her room and went downstairs, stopping at the front desk as
she always did to see if there was a telegram from Caden, some recognition that
she existed. There was none. She thanked the clerk, straightened her skirts and
stepped out into the sunlight. The first piece of business was to find a place
in which she could work.

She wandered down the street, going from house to house, and
learned the truth of a boomtown. Housing was scarce. At the edge of the alley
beside the mercantile was a for-rent sign with an arrow pointing down the alley.
She thought it might be a room, but when she went down the narrow passage, she
discovered a little house at the end. No one was about, so she let herself in
and looked around. It was small, just two rooms—a living room with a couch, an
end table and kerosene light, with a kitchen beyond. Through the kitchen window
she could make out an outhouse in the back. It was a tiny place, but the stove
was big and there was enough room for two worktables. Her heart started pounding
faster in her chest. The sign outside said to inquire at the mercantile. She
headed over, walked up to the front counter and waited, her breath catching in
her throat, butterflies tumbling about in her belly. A balding gentleman with
spectacles perched on the end of his nose came over.

“Can I help you, ma’am?”

She still couldn’t get used to being called
ma’am.

“There’s a house out back for rent.”

“Ah, that was my mother-in-law’s. God rest her soul.”

“She died?”

“Wife said not to admit this, but yeah, she died on that
couch.”

Maddie didn’t care about the couch.

“How much?”

He named a price for a month that made her blink. It was double
the cost of her hotel room.

He shrugged at her gasp. “Property’s expensive around here,
ma’am. Town’s booming, growing fast.”

Yes, it was. “For that price, I’d need somebody to chop
wood.”

“Wood, ma’am?”

She looked around the store. The shelves containing sweets were
almost bare. Maybe she could haggle.

“Yes, I’m a baker.”

“You don’t say.” As casual as the statement was, there was some
interest in his face.

“I could give you some baked goods to sell in exchange for the
services.”

“I got a boy old enough to split wood.”

“He would need to be reliable.”

“So would you.”

“I am.”

He looked at her, considering her words. “Are you any
good?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Still going to need the rent up front.”

The money Caden had given her for food would cover supplies,
but the rent—

“I’ll pay you three weeks’ in advance and a week’s baked goods
free.”

He looked at her. “I could rent that place out for more.”

“And likely have it filled with miners. Do you really want
those wild men that close to your wife and children?”

It was a guess that he had both. A guess that paid off.

“Nah, that’s why it’s still sitting empty.”

“Then do we have a deal?”

He eyed her again, looked at her bare ring finger, her dusty
clothes. “We have a deal. But before we finalize it, I want to sample your
baking. If I don’t like what you produce, the deal’s off.”

She nodded. “You could talk to Lucia at the restaurant. She’ll
vouch for me. But I assure you it won’t be a problem.”

His expression softened. He looked at her empty ring finger
again. “I’ll settle for a week up front and weekly rent after that.”

With that she could easily afford the supplies to get started.
Relief so strong it was debilitating flowed through her. “Thank you.”

“And, ma’am? If you give me your order for what you need to get
started—sugar, flour and the like —I’ll have it delivered to the house.”

Were her dire straits so obvious? Even if they were, what did
she care. She was starting her own business. She told him what she needed, and
he wrote it down. When she said
cinnamon,
his eyes
lit up.

“You’re gonna make rolls?”

She nodded. “If you’ve got enough.”

“I’ve got a ton of the stuff. Got it off a merchant who
couldn’t make it all the way over to California. Too expensive for most folks
around here.”

He named the price.

“It’s a little expensive even for me.”

“You really that good?”

She borrowed a bit of Caden’s confidence. “And then some.”

He named a lower price. “We’ll make it up in the sale of the
baked goods.”

She figured they would. And after the first week, they’d both
be sharing the profits. Wavering between panic and excitement, her heart
pounding in her throat, Maddie walked back to the hotel. If this didn’t work,
she’d be out on her butt in a week rather than three. It was a gamble.

I was going to...
She heard Hilda’s
rattling whisper again.

By the end of the week she might be without a home, but at the
end of the week she wouldn’t be saying
I was going
to
when it came to starting her own business. It would be done.

Marching up to the clerk at the front desk, she told him what
she wanted. He balked at refunding her the money Caden had paid in advance. She
planted her feet and brought out the Hell’s Eight reputation. He caved. She
tucked the precious hoard of coins into a handkerchief and pinned it inside her
bodice, then headed to the restaurant to let the Salingers know this was going
to be her last night, but also to explain she was starting her own bakery and
they could buy her breads separately.

They weren’t happy and at first tried to keep her. She knew
why. The money they were earning on bread sales would be money in Maddie’s
pocket after tonight, but then, with surprising good humor, Antonio wished her
well and told her he’d be buying whatever she had.

It was a start.

* * *

T
HE
FIRST
THREE
days, Maddie did
nothing but bake. She kneaded until her arms felt as if they were going to fall
off and her fingers were so stiff she couldn’t even hold a hairbrush. She
created loaf after loaf and then she started throwing in some sweet rolls and
cinnamon rolls, drizzling them with icing and bringing them to the mercantile.
It got so folks knew when she was going to be baking what, and the miners were
lining up at the door to her house, sometimes drunk, sometimes sober, but always
ready to buy whatever she had to offer. Though sometimes they thought she had
something to offer other than breads. Those times were scary.

When Antonio got word of it, he gave her a gun. She learned to
keep it strapped to her hip. It soon became easy to identify the rowdy ones and
the troublemakers, and by the evening of the fifth day, she discovered something
else. A hardworking woman with a product that people wanted tended to be
protected by the people who wanted that product.

When one man started harassing her, it was the crowd itself
that took him out, grabbing him by the arms, shoving him to the back, telling
him he wasn’t welcome. It was astounding to watch, and when the man was gone,
two of the miners sat in front of her door, picked up sticks and started
whittling. When she caught their eye, they told her to get back to work, she
needn’t worry at all about anything else, and she understood. She had a place
here now. As long as she could crank out cinnamon buns and bread, she was
valuable.

She made her rent the first week by the skin of her teeth after
paying for her supplies, but the second week she had a little profit left over
and the third week she had enough that she began to consider that maybe, seeing
as she was a woman alone, a bank might be a better proposition for her profits
than a jar on her counter. So she found time between shifts and she took a bath,
put on her one clean dress and went over to the bank.

She’d never been in a bank before. She’d passed by many, but
never dared to step through the imposing doors. Today was no exception. There
was something intimidating about bank doors. Something so important and
respectable she couldn’t see herself going in. Only the amount of money in her
reticule kept her from turning tail and running. It was all she had in the
world. It needed to be kept in a safer place than a jar in her rented house.
Besides, businesspeople had bank accounts.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

She jumped and then smiled at the dapperly dressed gentleman
about to enter the bank.

“Good morning.”

He tipped his bowler hat slightly. He had kind eyes behind his
wire-rimmed spectacles. “Are you thinking of coming or going?”

“I want to open an account.”

She hadn’t meant to blurt it out. She couldn’t blame him for
smiling.

“Well, then, I’m the man you want to see. John Laughton.”

He opened the door and held it for her.

“Oh.” Beyond she could see the orderly room with its heavy
desks, leather chairs and railed counter. Brass gleamed on the ends of posts.
Everything was clean and shiny. Prosperous. The child inside Maddie cried that
she didn’t belong there. The woman inside her tried to convince herself
otherwise. “Maddie...Miller.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller.” With a wave of his hand, he
motioned her through. “After you.”

She didn’t have a choice then but to step inside. The place
even smelled like money. And lemon oil. She clutched her reticule tightly as she
followed John Laughton through the bank and into an office beyond the counter.
He motioned her into the big chair in front of an equally big desk. “Have a
seat.”

“Thank you.”

She perched on the edge of the seat. He moved around the desk
and sat in the high-backed chair behind. The brown of his suit blended with the
leather chair, giving him more substance.

“Have you had an account with us before?”

“No.”

He opened a drawer and brought out a ledger, opening it to a
marked page. Dipping a pen in the inkwell, he looked up, “Does your husband have
an account with us?”

She had no ring on her finger, so he had to be fishing. She sat
a little straighter. “I don’t know.”

His eyebrows raised. “Perhaps you should talk to him about it
and come back.”

“He’s not available.”

Another lift of those eyebrows. “We do require his signature,
you understand.”

“But it’s my money.”

“Yes, but he’s your husband.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Are you recently married, Mrs. Miller?”

She licked her lips, unsure if it mattered. “What makes you
think that?”

“Your hesitation over giving your name.”

“Oh. Yes.”

“I have to inform you, ma’am, without his signature, you can’t
open an account.”

“But if he signs, he has access to my money.”

“He has access to your money anyway. He’s your husband.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t known that. The reticule seemed to grow
heavier in her lap. Now that she’d talked herself into putting her money into
the bank, she couldn’t stand the thought of it being as vulnerable there as on
her kitchen counter.

“He’s not available,” she repeated softly.

“When will he be?”

She gave him the truth. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sure your pin money will be safe wherever you’ve been
keeping it.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I wish I could help you, but there are rules we have to
follow.”

She fought back the urge to flee this place. She turned her
head as the bank doors opened and Antonio came in with the deposit from the
weekend. He was a foreigner yet he walked right up to the counter as if he had a
right. She’d seen his money; it was no different than hers. His business was no
different than hers. The only difference was in how she saw herself. And how Mr.
Laughton saw her. And she asked herself a question.
How
would Bella handle this?
The answer was simple. Head-on, using the
leverage she had.

“I don’t think you understand.” Maddie placed her reticule on
the desk. The bag bulged substantially. “I’ve started a rather successful
business.
Pin money
does not quite describe my
profits.”

Laughton’s eyes dropped to the reticule.

She opened the bag and dumped the contents on the desk. All
ninety-five dollars of it. A fortune to her. And apparently not small change to
him, either.