Caught in the Middle (13 page)

“Finn doesn’t have any family to speak of, but I guess he can’t be any worse than Sammy’s mother.”

Mrs. Puckett peered at her from over her spectacles. “This Finn, I don’t suppose he’s mended his ways, has he? Maybe he’d be willing to marry so his precious son would have a mother.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Anne scooted back from the churn. “And if he chooses to, he won’t have any trouble finding volunteers. He could sweet-talk a frog into a boiling pot of water.”

Mrs. Puckett straightened. “That sounds promising. I hate for you to leave us, but if I thought that you’d found a family of your own—”

Anne spun in her chair, her knee nearly knocking over the butter churn. “I’m not marrying Finn. I’m not marrying anyone. I’ll go back to what I know best—hunting, trapping, and living without . . . without all these people staring and talking.”

“Oh dear. I’m sorry that’s been your experience.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Sammy squirmed out of Anne’s arms and crawled toward a bag of potatoes propped in the corner. She paused, trying to find words of gratitude from a rarely used supply. “You’ve given me friendship when I had nothing to give in return. I won’t forget your goodness.”

Sammy beamed at them with a toothy grin.

“Just knowing you has been gift enough. And I’m afraid you’re going to have trouble forgetting that little guy, too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Anne’s throat felt unusually raspy. “I don’t know how, but he’s become the best thing that ever happened to me.”

 12 

The rose-colored draperies reflected on the gilded gas sconces and mirrors until the whole room showed pink, even tinting the white in the lapel pins scattered across Ophelia’s desk.

“Red, pink, and blue?” Nick held up a ribbon. “Not very patriotic.”

She slapped his hand. “Behave. Ian thinks my extravagance knows no limits, so I need you at least to be on my side.”

In the week since Ophelia had committed to Nick’s campaign, she’d immersed herself in local politics, gaining a remarkable understanding of who the influencers were and how to win their favor. Her relentlessness embarrassed him at times, but he couldn’t complain when she was acting on his behalf.

“Yes, ma’am. You just tell me what to do.”

“Naturally.” Holding a pamphlet out at arm’s length, she tried not to squint. “Sterling character, transportation expert, successful entrepreneur.” She lowered the bill and smiled. “Sound like anyone you know?”

“I hope you don’t print much of that nonsense, or my hat will get too tight.”

“No time for modesty. Have these phrases on the tip of your tongue. You’ll hear that you’re too young, too inexperienced, too beholden to the railroads, so then you toss these answers like buckets of sand on a fire. Don’t hesitate. I’m planning a dinner for you in two weeks, a fund-raiser, where you’ll meet all the leaders of Garber enterprise.”

“Dinner? That reminds me, are you and Mr. Stanford planning to join us for dinner when my sister arrives?”

Ophelia smiled. “Of course. Only I’d rather not eat at a public house. You must bring your guests here and allow me to hostess. I’d be honored. Now, about this political event, not all of these men are supporters of yours, but this will be your chance to win them over.”

“Do I have any supporters?”

“Certainly. Some dislike your opponent, Philip Walton, but many of your friends and contacts have already begun to spread the word.”

Nick pinned the ribbon onto his lapel. “Then we mustn’t let them down.”

She beamed. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Campaigning should come naturally to you, Nicholas. You possess charisma that can’t be taught. Make use of that and give no cause for offense. Don’t frequent any establishments that might tarnish your reputation. Plan
accidental
encounters with influential people. Consider whose company you’re keeping . . .” One carefully painted eyebrow rose. “Need I go any further?”

He owed Anne his life—a debt that felt like less of a burden and more of an honor the longer he knew her, but the best he could do with his benefactress was to ignore the slight. “I understand. Be me but even more so.”

She tilted her head in modest agreement. “And in the meantime, don’t forget to keep up your work at the courthouse. If you fail to perform your duties, all the ribbons in the world won’t secure you a position.”

He had to look away before she caught him smirking at the ribbons that bedecked her ensemble. “Now that you mention it, I have some correspondence about the bridge that needs a reply. I’d better be going.” But before he even reached his hat, he heard Mr. Stanford’s pounding footsteps approaching.

“Nick! Good to see you, my boy. How are you? Have Ophelia’s efforts scared you off yet?”

Ophelia touched her pearl necklace. “I’m a great help, Ian. You, of all people, should know that.”

He ambled to her desk with a grim chuckle. “Without you I would miss out on scads of opportunities, live in a hovel, and have no social connections whatsoever. Listen to her, Nicholas. She can get you places.” He lifted the lid on a jar of sweets and took a handful of chocolate-covered peanuts.

“One place I’ve yet to go is to the emporium to get my crimson reticule. With all my campaigning it’s a particularly appropriate accessory for my navy gown.”

Ian rolled his eyes before addressing Nick. “How’s business at the courthouse?”

“Not much with everyone preparing for the election—only the bridge vote at the end of this month.”

“Ah, yes. The bridge. Awfully ambitious for little Blackstone County.”

“But possible,” Nick said. “You can’t imagine how desperately Allyton needs reliable transportation across to Garber.”

“We can’t ask the population to pay for something that
benefits only a few.” Ian shook his head. “It’d be unjust. Those people chose to live there despite the lack of transportation.”

True. Nick agreed with Mr. Stanford in theory, but the memory of seeing the panicked man brave the river was hard to ignore. Yet, what if that family were the only family living in Allyton? Could they spend tens of thousands of dollars to build a bridge for one family? They had to draw a line somewhere, but Nick wasn’t sure where that was. He’d learned how to handle his own money. Distributing the money of others should be considered even more carefully.

After Ophelia’s dire predictions about hurting Nick’s campaign, Anne almost felt guilty showing up at the office in her dingy hunting wear. She’d expected an argument or maybe even for him to send her home. Why did he have to come out with that giddy grin and ask if she’d had an enjoyable evening? Why did he have to spread on the charm like marmalade at a fancy tea? Didn’t he know she wasn’t Sunday company?

She stomped to her desk, trying to squelch the speculative glances he was giving her.

“This afternoon is my introduction to the chamber,” he said. “I’ve practiced my lines a hundred times. Would you like to hear them?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I can’t vote. You’d be wasting your time.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s just as well. I need to show you the payroll. My foreman will be in this afternoon to pick up pay for the crew.”

He allowed her to pass and get behind her desk— Harold’s desk—before flipping open a portfolio.

“The figure in this column shows the workers’ hours. Multiply it by this here, and deduct the amount in this column from their total pay to cover their purchases at the company store, broken tools . . . and fees for refusing to listen to my speeches.”

Anne raised an eyebrow. She wouldn’t laugh, especially when he was trying so hard to elicit that response.

“I got a telegraph from Anoli,” she said.

Nick sobered. “About Sammy’s father?”

Anne nodded. “He’s on his way.”

Nick ran his finger beneath his starched collar. “Maybe he’ll make an appearance this time. I don’t want you disappointed again.”

Anne blurted, “I’m going to miss Sammy. I couldn’t wait to be free of him at first, and now I’m going to miss him.”

“Funny how that happens.” But Nick didn’t sound like it was funny at all. “So now you wait. No hopping on a train unless you’ve said good-bye.”

“No.” Anne traced the edge of the desk. “I won’t run off.”

“And I hope you can stay to see Molly. She’ll want to visit before going to the Stanfords’.”

Anne’s mouth dropped open. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I was going to reserve the dining room at the hotel, but Mrs. Stanford insisted on hosting a dinner. It’ll be grand. I thought we might as well make an occasion of it, especially if you’re leaving Garber.”

Dinner at the Stanfords’? Anne felt ill. She could stare Mrs. Stanford down on the street, but she’d be turned away at the door if she showed up dressed as she was.

Nick stopped. “Please come. I’d love to present you to Molly. Ophelia will behave herself. She’s a wonderful hostess.”

“Mrs. Stanford doesn’t serve me as large of a piece of approval pie as she does you. I can’t go to her house.”

“She’s got no reason to dislike you. Dress up a mite and there’ll be no rift. Here, take this.” He pulled a clip of money out of his pocket, slid the top bill off, and dropped it on her desk. “Once you’re finished with payroll take the rest of the day to get yourself an outfit together. We’ll quit Wednesday when their train gets in.” He started for his office. “Oh, and don’t forget to write that in the ledger.”

“Write what?”

He pointed to the bill that lay untouched on her desk. “Business gift. Note it in the third column.”

“I don’t need your gifts, business or otherwise.”

Nick’s mouth opened to retort when steps sounded on the stairs outside. Anne almost laughed at how quietly they listened, both certain it was Ophelia, but the door swung open to reveal a grim deputy.

“Y’all got a minute? I could use your help.”

Nick wasn’t afraid of meeting the outlaws again. True, he’d almost died at the hands of one of these blackguards, but he would enjoy the satisfaction of facing them on more even footing. He and Anne trailed behind Joel, letting him part the crowds like Moses and the Red Sea. They’d only caught three of the train robbers on this holdup, but if there was any justice under the sun, they’d be the same ones that had accosted his train.

A murmur swelled through the crowd as ominous as the thunder of a stampede. Judgment day for someone.

“Step back,” Joel ordered as they reached the jailhouse door, then he looked surprised when they obeyed.

The onlookers craned their necks over Nick’s shoulder as he guided Anne in with a hand at her back and pulled the door closed behind them.

“You almost got a lynch mob.” Nick’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkened stone interior.

“Don’t need one.” Joel gestured to three bodies lying in an unlocked cell. “They’re already dead. Do you recognize these men?”

Nick’s stomach lurched. He reached to lay a comforting hand on Anne’s shoulder, but she walked directly into the cell and looked down on the slack faces.

Nick forced himself closer and averted his eyes from the ragged hole torn in the vest of the man at his feet, but the vest he’d recognize anywhere. “That’s the leader. He’s the one who told the man to shoot me.”

Joel looked to Anne. Her jaw lifted in dark affirmation.

Nick walked around his feet to get a better look at the one against the wall. “I think that’s the kid I scuffled with. If he has dark eyes—”

“Let me open them for you,” Joel said.

“I’d rather you not.”

“That’s him.” Anne’s shoulders looked like they could withstand a hurricane. “He has a piece of his ear missing. I remember now.”

Joel bent to inspect and was satisfied. “How about the third one? Does he look familiar?”