Caught in the Middle (7 page)

“No, ma’am. What’s to keep you from doing the same as his mother and disappearing?”

Her face grew fierce. “As tempting as that is, I’m made of sterner stuff. But these people . . . they have some other motivation, probably sinister, that I haven’t detected yet.”

“You think the Pucketts are deviants?”

“You don’t know. Your pa, your ma, they’d never hurt you. You don’t know how people are.”

Her impenetrable mask was slipping again. Her tough act cracking. He reached to smooth Sammy’s tousled blond hair, and she shied away from him. Did Jay Tillerton still haunt her? Nick knew she had a past darker than his shoe blacking, and while he was sympathetic, he couldn’t lose this chance to leave her in competent hands. It was the best he could do for her.

“You’re right, Mrs. Tillerton. My experience with evil is limited. I don’t know people like that, but I know these people. You and Sammy will be safe with them. You came to me for help, and this is the best help I can offer. Please give them a chance.”

The slant in her eyes made him want to smile, even now. “I can’t go back. What will they think?”

“They’ll understand.”

“What if they’ve already changed their mind?”

“We won’t know unless we ask.”

Absently she bounced Sammy on her hip as she considered—her rough-worn duster out of place in the tidy neighborhood. And to think she was afraid of them.

“I’ll leave if they act suspicious. And if they hurt him . . . so help me . . .”

“For being unprepared to care for the boy, you sound like a regular Momma bear.” Nicholas smiled. “Now, let’s get you and the cub settled in your den.”

 7 

The next day Anne heaved a sigh of relief as she left to find employment. Although she questioned if leaving the baby with Mrs. Puckett was wise, she couldn’t deny the relief of being alone. The baby had snuffled and whined all night, although it was still the best night’s sleep she’d had since coming to town. He probably missed his momma. Nothing she could do to help him there.

On the street, Anne stepped aside to defer to a stylishly dressed lady and thought of the flimsy dress the saloon owner had offered. Not again. Anne was done with dressing to please men. She had donned dresses for only a few years at the encouragement of her schoolteacher, Mr. Tillerton. He challenged her to better herself and not hide her talents. Too late she realized which talents interested him the most, and by that time her father had an opportunity to rid himself of his daughter. Jay Tillerton had been forced to marry her and leave the state, carting her to live among total strangers—where no one felt obligated to speak up for her.

Anne scanned the various shops and businesses up and
down the street. Finding work for the day would solve two of her problems—she could recompense the Pucketts for her board, and she’d escape from Sammy. But who would hire her?

She slowed as she passed the bank. While she could figure and write in a clear hand, she’d never seen a woman dressed like herself working in an office. Maybe a tanner or a farrier would need an extra hand.

The livery stable bustled with carriages lined up and men waiting for their mounts. Anne stuck her head inside the office, not surprised to find it empty. She cut through the crowd and found the boss.

“You look busy. I could lend a hand for a few hours.”

“Do you know how to unhitch a horse from a carriage?” He didn’t even look her way as he buckled a bridle.

“Sure do.”

“Then get out there and move those carriages.”

Anne marched toward a fine buggy. The man holding the reins didn’t act accustomed to waiting, but he lit up when he saw her. “Well, now. What do we have here? Mackie is hiring fancy women to work the stables?”

Anne raised her eyes warily. His hat hid the silver streaks in his hair, but he was definitely the same man she’d seen in the upstairs of the saloon. She took the reins from him. “I’ve got it. You can go.”

“It’s not your place to dismiss me, young lady. I know everything that happens in this town, so why haven’t I heard of you?”

“Maybe because I don’t plan to be in this town much longer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Wait.” Commands came easily for him. “I have heard of
you. You rode in on the train from Pushmataha, didn’t you? The one that got held up?”

Anne clicked her tongue. The horses followed. The man reached up and threw the brake on the carriage.

“You are the woman from the train. Well, well. And I’m someone you’d benefit from knowing. Meet me at my . . . well, let’s meet at the hotel. I want—”

“No.” Anne put her hands on her hips and glared. “If you don’t release the brake, I’ll move on to the other carriage.”

“You don’t know to whom you are speaking. You should reconsider—”

“Ian?”

Anne sighted the woman immediately. Although not clad in the same gown that she’d worn in Mr. Lovelace’s office, Mrs. Stanford’s dress was just as extravagant. She approached purposefully, and the expression on the man’s face made the whole encounter almost worth it. Mister Powerful-Influential-Romeo glowered at the lady in the expensive fitted gown, but his interest in Anne had vanished.

“Why did you come back?” he asked.

“I left my portfolio in the carriage.” Her eyes, sharp as knives, picked Anne apart feature by feature. And her words cut even cleaner. “I thought you would’ve left town by now.”

Her husband stepped up and retrieved the portfolio for her.

“I’ll leave as soon as I’m able,” Anne said.

“Are you employed here?” The lady stood with perfect posture, her skirts fluttering where they flared from her knees downward, her hands folded together before her.

“Temporarily.”

The woman’s face remained impassive. She rotated slowly, took her husband’s arm, and led him away.

Seeing her opportunity, Anne pulled the brake free and led the horses to the back of the barn, where the carriages would be stored. She found an empty stall and unharnessed the horses. She’d just led them out of the traces when the yard boss waved her down.

“Here’s a half-dollar—a generous wage for the little time you spent, I’d say.”

Anne looked at the men waiting for their horses. “That’s all you need? It looks like—”

“That’s all. I’ve already had a complaint from one of my best customers. I can’t have you enticing the men here.”

“Enticing? Listen, mister. You can string me up if I as much as smiled at one of your customers.”

He looked as aggravated as she felt, but he didn’t change his mind. “Get on, now. No point causing a scene.”

Anne shoved the coin into her pocket. She knew where the charge had come from, but there was nothing to do besides accept her money and leave behind another place where she was unwelcome. At least she’d made enough to pay Mrs. Puckett something for supper without tapping into her train-ticket money.

She headed back to her temporary lodging. She couldn’t say that she missed the child—not when she was counting the hours before he’d be removed from her care—but she didn’t want her absence to trouble him. The boy needed someone who could love him. Everyone deserved that much.

Nicholas hadn’t had much reason to go to the courthouse since settling in Garber. Occasional permits and taxes had to be filed, but neither increased his desire to visit the white marble
structure, bland and devoid of ornamentation. If he had county work that needed to be done, he took the papers with him, which was exactly what he was doing as he left the courthouse. He much preferred to labor in his more comfortable space than in the utilitarian building. Persian rugs and potted ferns gave his office an air of luxury that the government found unnecessary.

As did Commissioner David Anderson. Gaunt, bespectacled, and careful with his words, his only concession to fashion was a handlebar moustache that the town barber trimmed every Saturday morning. Meeting him in the vicinity of the courthouse wasn’t unusual, which was precisely where Nick saw him today.

“Good morning, Nick.” The other man stood in front of the dry goods store located directly across the street. “Are you finding your way around the courthouse?”

Nick joined him under the awning and out of the sun. “I have to count doors in that hallway to keep from walking into the wrong office, but I think I can remember now. Considering the short duration of my service, there’s not much to worry about besides the bridge project.”

David peered over the rims of his spectacles. “The bridge project has provided enough worry, as it is.”

“Tell me why. The only reason I’m given is that the river is too wide and not easily spanned, but if the railroads can bridge it, why couldn’t we?”

“Your vote is yes?”

“I haven’t had time to delve into the numbers yet, but if I vote no, it won’t be because of construction fears.”

“Interesting.” David rubbed his chin. “Do you have any desire to run for election in November?”

The white of the courthouse loomed like a palace across
the street. “No. I mean, I hadn’t considered it. This was just an appointment.”

“Someone will be elected to fill your spot. Maybe you could get an extension on the filing, considering the circumstances. We could use another honest man.”

His tone caused Nicholas to look over his shoulder, but the potato barrel on the store’s porch was the only witness. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Only that things aren’t always what they seem—you, for instance.”

But before Nicholas could puzzle out his meaning, Anderson stepped off the porch.

“Good day, Mr. Lovelace.”

Election? Nicholas shook his head as he made his way to his office. Every minute spent worrying over the bridge was a minute lost overseeing his own interests. He’d accepted this post, but he wasn’t looking to extend his stay.

When he reached the rickety outside staircase to Lovelace Transportation Specialists, the door above him opened. Out stepped Harold, his arms full of files and ledgers.

“Is it quitting time already?” Nick met him halfway up the staircase.

“It’s Saturday,” Harold said. “I shouldn’t be here at all, but I came back to take another look at the figures we’re presenting to Mr. Stanford on the second line.”

Nicholas slapped his back. “Don’t bury yourself in the books, Harold. Your wife will be mad at me.”

“I’m charging you overtime, so she approves.”

Harold turned sideways as Nicholas squeezed past him on the staircase. Nick hugged as close to the building as he could manage.

“Don’t lean against that rail,” Nick warned. But it was too late.

With a sickening crack the rail gave way, and Harold teetered at the edge. Nicholas made a grab for him but came up with only ripped paper.

“Harold!” He leaned over the gaping hole to see his employee lying on the ground. “Are you all right?”

Harold rolled to his back, exposing his right arm bent in places that arms shouldn’t bend. “Does it look as bad as it hurts?”

Racing down the stairs, Nick’s heart hammered. “It looks bad. Can you move your legs?”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Just stay put and I’ll get a doctor.” Nicholas wasn’t feeling too healthy, either. The sight of the disjointed arm turned his stomach inside out.

“Help me up.”

Nick supported him the best he could without putting any pressure on his shoulder. Harold’s face turned white and his lips tightened, but he was on his feet, and they were on their way.

The next hour Nick spent agonizing over each of Harold’s whimpers as the doctor set his arm. He should’ve insisted that his landlord fix that staircase. Harold’s injuries could’ve been much worse. By the time the doctor broke out the bandages, Nick’s teeth had ground themselves smooth.

Joel’s voice carried into the office. “I know you’re here, Nick. You might as well speak up.”

“Come on back.” Nick winced as the doctor wrapped another layer of bandages around the splint while Harold tightly gripped the bed frame.

Deputy Joel Puckett stepped into the room, his wide-set
eyes still carrying the innocence of youth despite six years as a Texas deputy. “When I spied that broken bannister, I was afraid something like this had happened.”

“I’ll be fine.” Harold licked his lips. “But I won’t be doing any pencil pushing for a while.”

“Well, I don’t imagine that Nick will put you out to pasture just yet.”

Nick scratched his head. “Don’t know what we’ll do. Just pray that Harold’s arm miraculously heals.”

“I don’t think God owes you that big of a favor,” Joel said.

The doctor raised his head only enough to catch them above the wire frame of his glasses. “I’m trying to work here.”

“Go on home.” Sweat beaded on Harold’s face. “I don’t want anyone seeing me like this. Besides, Doc sent for my wife. She’ll be here soon.”

Nick lifted his hand to pat Harold on the back but then thought better of it and followed Joel outside to the well on the back of the property.