Grace be a Lady (Love & War in Johnson County Book 1) (12 page)

Cheyenne
wasn’t much to speak of, Grace thought, surveying the bustling little town, at
least not compared to the Windy City, but Raney found numerous things on which
to comment. As she and Grace stepped off the train, the older woman scowled at
the traffic and shook her head, as if disapproving of the hustle.

“Growin’
like a weed. Cheyenne is the capital. You know,” she elbowed Grace in the ribs,
“we ain’t been a state long.”

Grace
tossed her saddlebag over her shoulder and thought about an intriguing piece of
trivia that had somehow hidden away in her brain. “Didn’t Wyoming give women
the right to vote?”

Raney
puffed up, apparently proud of the forward-thinking state. “We sure did. Only
state so far.”

The
town’s main avenue—crowded with horses, riders, wagons, and quick-moving
pedestrians—spanned from an impressive brick courthouse down to the stockyards
and train station. This area seethed with boisterous cowboys hanging on fences,
telling jokes, and tossing ropes. Killing time. Antsy cows mooed and complained
in their crowded holding pens. Another train announced its impending arrival
with a deafening whistle, and the cowboys moved toward the cattle chutes in one
accord.

“Well,
it’s certainly bigger than Misery.” Grace removed her hat and ran a hand
through her hair, still surprised by the cropped feel. “I guess that’s saying
something.”

Thad
wandered up beside them. “But not as big as Chicago, thank God.” He laid a hand
on Raney’s shoulder. “Pa said let’s all check into the Bishop House, get
cleaned up, meet in the lobby for dinner. We’ll see ya about five-thirty?”

Raney
nodded. “That’ll do.” She started off in the opposite direction, and Grace
followed. “I expect you to behave, young man.” She tagged Grace playfully in
the ribs. “I’m part owner of the Bishop House. Don’t make me look bad.”

“You’re
part owner of a hotel?” Grace didn’t really know Raney well enough to judge,
but the woman seemed so at home, so content, on the ranch. City life didn’t
seem to fit the woman at all.

Raney
shrugged her shoulders. “Was a time I thought I might let the ranch go. Or at
least I thought about retiring here.” She surveyed the beehive of a town and pulled
her face into a scowl. “Grief. You make bad decisions when you’re grieving.”

Grace
stepped onto the front porch of the Bishop House, and tugged her hat lower
against a cold gust of wind. Long shadows reached across the nearly empty
street, throwing the buildings across the way into early dusk. The lights from
the grocer’s, butcher shop, and a lawyer’s office glowed invitingly.

Evening
had quieted this part of town substantially, but Grace could hear the saloons
on the next street over; coarse laughter, feminine giggling, pianos, and
banjos. The sounds floated to her on the breeze. She flipped up her collar and pulled
her coat closer.

Now,
where was a phone in this town?

Looking
both ways, she crossed the empty street toward the grocer’s. To Grace’s
delight, a sign on the door announced the arrival of the telephone. Private
calls available for a fee. She clutched the doorknob, Hardy’s little cherubic
face rising in her heart. Oh, to hear his voice . . .

She
froze.

She’d
already pondered what to do if Bull was home. Hang up. But if he wasn’t, should
she truly risk getting Hardy on the phone? What if Hardy told Bull about the
call? If she was very, very careful in what she said and how she talked to Hardy . . .

Resolute,
or desperate, she opened the door and stepped inside. A tall, older man wearing
round spectacles nodded at her from the counter.

“What
can I help you with, sonny?”

Grace
paused, then remembered her appearance and wondered when this ruse would be
second-nature. “Uh, yes, I understand you have a phone. I’d like to call
Chicago.” She strode over to the counter. “How much will that cost me?”

“Five
dollars a minute.”

Grace’s
mouth fell open. The clerk hunched his shoulders. “Sorry, son, I don’t set the
prices. Owner does.”

Grace’s
mouth moved, but she couldn’t work out a sound.

“Here,
Leroy,” Thad pulled a bill from his wallet and laid it on the counter. “I’ll
cover a minute.” He shoved his wallet back into his breast pocket and grabbed a
peppermint stick. “You skip dinner, too?”

Grace
shook her head, as much from confusion as pride. So absorbed was she in her
dilemma, she hadn’t even noticed him standing at the end of the counter. “No. I
mean, I can’t let you do that. Pay for it.”

“I
don’t mind. I expect you’re good for it.”

Grace
studied the young man before her. Those blue eyes glittering with compassion,
but a hint of mirth, as well, affected her. How, she wasn’t quite sure.

Thad
punched Grace in the shoulder. “It ain’t charity, kid. It’s a loan. But, if you
don’t want to be in debt to me . . .”

Grace
sucked her cheeks in, debating any further involvement with this man. Why was
he so nice? If she set aside her pride, then in the next few minutes she might
hear Hardy’s little voice. On that hope, she nodded. “All right, thank you. I
will pay you back.”

“I
know.” Thad slid the bill to Leroy who took it and dropped the payment in his
register.

“Right
this way, son.” He slipped out from behind the counter and motioned for Grace
to follow. “We keep it back here, so folks can have some privacy.”

After
allowing Leroy to walk her through the process, and then getting an operator on
the line, a scratchy, faint ring filled the ear piece. Grace’s heart kicked
into a gallop. She checked over her shoulder. Thad bid Leroy goodbye and
slipped out the front door. The clerk went back behind the counter.

Another
ring.

Grace
closed her eyes.

And
another . . .

Come
on, come on . . . If I was a praying woman—

“ ’Ello?”
Marie’s thick, French accent, tinny and faint, came through the phone, and
Grace nearly fainted. “ ’Ello? Hendrick residence.”

Grace
swallowed and leaned into the mouth piece. “Hello. Is Mr. Hendrick available?”

“No,
I am sorry. He is out.”

Grace
exhaled. “Marie,” she calmed herself and spoke again, slowly this time. “Marie,
can you bring Hardy to the telephone?”

A
long silence worried Grace for a moment that the connection had been lost. Then
the girl on the other end lowered her voice. “Mrs. Hendrick?” she sounded
stunned. “Is this you?”

Grace
knew she shouldn’t confess to anything for her sake and for Marie’s. She
steadied her voice to sound indifferent. “I was calling for Hardy. Might he
come to the phone?”

Another
long silence and Grace chewed her lip. She had to stifle a cry when Hardy’s
little voice came through, puzzled and so far away. “Helloooo . . .?”

How
Grace wanted to hug her son, tell him everything, tell him she missed him, that
she loved him so much. But she couldn’t alarm him, couldn’t let him know it was
her, which tore out her heart. “Hello, Hardy.” She fought to steady her voice. “How
are you?”

“Fine.”

“Have
you . . .” Grace blinked back tears and swallowed the knot in
her throat. “Have you been to the park? Is there a new swing yet?”

The
boy brightened. “Oh, yes, the new swing is in. Nanny Doyle and me go every day . . .”
he faded off, as if troubled by something. “Daddy didn’t let me go for a
thousand days, and then he said I could. And the new swing was there.”

Grace
smiled at his understanding of time. A hundred days, a thousand days. A mere
twenty-three days without her son felt like an eternity. “And how is your daddy?”

“Oh,
he’s fine.” Grace was surprised by the quick, confident answer, admittedly even
a little hurt.

“And
you, you’re fine, too, yes?” she asked again.

This
time he didn’t answer so quickly. “I’m all right but my mommy went on a trip
and I miss her.” Grace had to clutch the wall to keep from collapsing to the
floor. With a herculean effort, she held back the sob that cried for freedom.
She could almost hear the wheels whirling in Hardy’s head. Through the scratchy
connection, he whispered, “Mommy?”

She’d
done what she came to do. Hardy was fine. She could live on this call for a
while longer. She had to. He couldn’t know this was her. Otherwise, Bull might
take him away. Focusing on what she was fighting for, Grace sniffled, stood up
to the pain slicing through her heart, and shook her head. “Your mommy will be
home soon, Hardy. She told me. But you have to keep that a secret. Okay? Can
you do that?”

“Yes.
I guess so. When will she be home?”

Fighting
for every ounce of strength she could muster, Grace slowly hung up the phone.

Blind
with grief, Grace wandered down the street. The sun had slipped behind the
distant Big Horn Mountains, and the cold sank in. She ignored the passersby,
who glanced at her as she sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her
hand.

She
seesawed in her mind between missing Hardy and hating Bull. With each step,
though, her fury toward the man spread like a poison in her blood.

This
whole situation is his fault. What kind of insufferable monster banishes his
wife and takes her child away from her?

All
those years of rambling around an empty house while he was out philandering
played over and over in her head. Lonely Christmas mornings with no clue where
he was. The beatings when things didn’t suit him. The pitying glances from the
servants. The brave face for Hardy. Trying to be the good wife had only earned
her Bull’s wrath . . . and loathing.

And
he
had the gall to keep her son from her?

Livid,
Grace stopped at the end of the boardwalk. If it took her from now till the
Second Coming, she was going to best Bull Hendrick. She was going to get Hardy
back, and Bull would never see them again. She swore it to herself—

A
squeal jerked her attention to the end of the dark alley. In the faint light of
a window, she could see a man and a woman tussling. Grace heard a slap, and the
woman cried out.

“Hey!”
she yelled, stepping into the alley. “What’s going on down there?”

The
couple paused.

“Let
her alone or I’m going for the sheriff!” Furious for a different reason now,
Grace took a step toward them, and another, her feet driven by rage.
No more . . .no
more!
“I mean it, get away from her!”

The
man growled, threw his victim to the ground, and bolted off behind the building.
Grace rushed to the woman’s aid and helped her to her feet. “Are you all
right?”

Taking
a deep breath, she straightened up. A slender rivulet of blood trickled from
her nostril to her lip. “I’m fine, I’m fine.” She brushed off her dress,
straightened her sleeves, and then slapped an unexpectedly bold gaze on her
rescuer. Raising her chin, she assessed Grace from top to bottom. “Well, I
think you’re about the scrawniest hero I’ve ever had.” Chuckling, she draped
her arm over Grace. Her face, delicate and downright stunning in its beauty,
revealed no fear, only resignation. “Here, help me to my dressing room, won’t
you?”

“Certainly.”
Grace wrapped an arm around the woman, clutched the hand slung over her shoulder,
and walked her around to the back of the building. Fumbling between keeping the
woman on her feet and opening the door, Grace managed to get her inside, down
the hall, and to a settee in a small room.

Relieved,
Grace stepped back. The woman really was quite lovely, with regal features,
high cheekbones, dark eyes, and auburn hair twisted in a stylish chignon. She
wore a stunning blue satin dress that seemed as out of place in Cheyenne as a
camel.

Grace
glanced around, and realized they were in a dressing room. The gas lights
framing a large mirror glowed warmly, and cast an inviting amber hue over the
room cluttered with trunks and dresses.

“Hand
me that mirror, please, and a handkerchief.”

The
woman’s voice, now rather matter-of-fact, snatched Grace back to the moment.
She surveyed the messy vanity, found the items, and passed them to her.

“Thank
you.” The woman studied herself in the mirror and dabbed at her nose. “Because
of you, I believe I can perform tonight.”

“You’re
an actress?”

She
took another swipe at the blood on her lip then lowered the mirror to appraise
Grace. “So they tell me.”

Something
about her studious gaze made Grace uncomfortable, or was it the amusement
twitching on the woman’s lips?

“I’m
Susanna Kinsey. And I need a drink.”

She
rose, marched to the vanity, grabbed a decanter, and then spun and hunted the
room with a greedy gaze. “Have a seat.” The command sounded like an
afterthought, but Grace obliged, taking a stool. Susanna spied a shot glass
sitting atop a trunk and snagged it. Bottle and glass in hand, she sat back
down on the seat at the vanity and poured a drink. “What you did was very
brave. You didn’t know if that man might shoot you, beat you, or run away.”

Taken
aback by that, Grace dropped her gaze to the floor. Things certainly could have
ended differently. Hardy could be motherless right now if that brute had had a
bit more fight in him. But he had made Grace so mad. Or perhaps he had merely
been a substitute for Bull. Either way, the desire to throttle the man had taken
over Grace’s common sense.

“I
couldn’t take it,” she whispered, still staring at the ground. “They can’t keep
beating on—” She bit off the thought.

“Us?”
The woman raised an eyebrow at Grace’s surprise. “Ah, don’t worry, your secret
is safe with me, kid.” She spun in her chair and started rummaging around the
vanity.

Grace
touched her face, concerned something was too feminine about it. “What secret?”

Susanna
found a tin box, opened it and removed a cigarillo. “Honey, there are only two
reasons a woman pretends to be a man.” She searched again among the dozens of
make-up containers, and came up with a match. She struck it with her thumb, lit
the cigar, then shook the light and tossed it back to the vanity. Exhaling, she
again regarded Grace with that studious eye. “You don’t strike me as the . . .
scandalous
type, shall we say? I’d wager you like men as much as I do.
So, what’s your story?” Susanna leaned back and crossed her legs and arms,
waiting.

“I
don’t know what you mean.”

“Honey,
I’m in the theater. We’re all liars pretending to be someone we’re not. I can
spot an actor a mile away.”

Grace
broke. “Is it obvious?”

Susanna
threw her head back and laughed. “Hell’s bells, it should be. But these
hayseeds can’t see past what’s right in front of ’em.” The laughter faded and
her expression darkened. “You’re hiding from a man.”

“Not
exactly.” And Grace told her story. It burst out of her like a breaking dam,
and it felt good to finally share her secret.

Susanna
sighed at the end and crushed out the remainder of her cigar. “I owe you, Grace
Hendrick.” She jutted out her hand and the two women shook. “I’ll be in
Cheyenne for another few weeks, then Casper, then Sheridan. After that, I go
home to Chicago for a break.” She pulled a card from the messy vanity and
handed it to Grace. “When you get your son, if you need a place to stay, go to
that address. If you need a job, I’ll get you one.”

Grace
shook her head, stunned at the woman’s generosity. “You just met me. Why would
you—”

“Because,
for an instant, you put my needs above your own—a total stranger.” The actress’s
gaze drifted off. “My father used to tell me stories about a Man who did that
for all of us.” A deep melancholy laced her voice, but she smiled in spite of
it. “No one does that anymore, Grace. Thank you.”