Hannah’s Beau (12 page)

She decided to take his lead and respond with a bit of comedy of her own. “You are a man after my own heart.”

Unfortunately, her words escaped from her mouth in a far more serious tone than she’d intended. Mortified, she clamped her lips shut and waited.

She’d never been tongue-tied before. After all, she was Hannah Southerland. Esteemed actress in her own right. A woman who made a living donning roles and speaking words the greatest playwrights had penned. Yet this man, the son of one of her most valued and trusted friends, not only stole her breath, he stole the words right out of her mouth.

He must have noticed the change in her, because his eyes widened and then narrowed just enough to indicate his confusion. “Am I, Hannah?” he asked in an equally serious tone. “Am I a man after your own heart?”

Hard as she tried, she couldn’t force her lips to form around a response. She had no idea how to answer such a question when her own emotions were in such turmoil. “I…I don’t…” She swallowed. “I don’t know.”

“Then I have a bit of work to do,” he said. The solemn glint in his eyes told her he wasn’t teasing.

In that moment, she knew that she was in over her head with this man.

Nevertheless, she was an actress, a well-trained one at that.

Pretending they were still talking about the tobacco she’d confiscated, she jiggled the pouch in front of him and said, “You do indeed.”

His gray eyes swept across her face, measuring, gauging.

She remained in character, standing mute under his scrutiny with a playful glint in her eyes.

Still, he made no move to retrieve the tobacco. Just
when the moment became uncomfortable, his smile relaxed. “Then I’d better get rid of that before our girl awakens.”

“Right,” Hannah said, thinking she was in the clear. But then he plucked the pouch from her palm, and his fingers brushed against hers. The instant warmth and comfort that braided through her should have surprised her. Especially after all they’d been through. Instead, she felt a sense of rightness.

A sense of homecoming.

The emotion scared her spitless and her pulse fluttered in response.

“Give me a five-minute head start, then go wake our little sneak.” His tone was very businesslike now, the minister firmly back in place.

Hannah knew she should be grateful for the return of Reverend O’Toole. Yet she couldn’t stop a sigh from slipping past her lips as he pivoted on his heel and left her to stare after his retreating back.

In her years on the stage, she’d met the most captivating, charismatic men of the world. She’d socialized with heads of state and crown princes. She’d had offers, some honorable, others dishonorable. And yet none had inspired her to consider anything more than friendship. Not one.

But now, when she needed to concentrate on her sister and then go forth with her own future plans, a rebel preacher with no place to call home had not only turned her head, he had captured her heart.

She placed a hand to her throat and breathed in slowly.

Hannah didn’t know what to do with all the emotions rushing through her. She needed discernment to guide her.
She needed prayer, a lot of prayer. Because, when it came to her future, one thing was certain: Horatio Beauregard O’Toole had become an unexpected complication.

B
eau knew Cheyenne well. Originally a rowdy home for railroad personnel, the Wyoming town had once boasted at least seventeen saloons providing three to five burlesque shows a night. But now, thanks to the completed railroad and the rise of cattle barons, the residents enjoyed a social life on par with larger cities back East.

Despite the limited population, the cultural advances and stylish set alone would entice Tyler to stay awhile.

Or so Beau surmised.

With the shocking turn of events of the last week, he couldn’t pretend to know what had been in Tyler’s mind when he’d run off with Rachel Southerland. Thus, Beau led his tiny group away from the railroad station in silence, while his mind worked overtime.

He wondered if Tyler would be performing in the new opera house, or the reputable playhouse, or if he’d dare subject himself to playing in one of the seedier saloons left over from the rowdy days. The information from the town marshal hadn’t been clear on the matter.

And at this point, speculation was useless.

As Beau directed his party around a corner and onto 17th Street, he took a moment to study the familiar surroundings. Not much had changed in the year since his last visit. Clean, stylish, rich—those were the words that came to mind when he looked around. The sidewalks were free of debris. Even the tracks left by wagon wheels in the street were in straight, neat rows. All in all, the fashionable buildings outdid one another. But none were as grand as the large structure on their left. The famous Cheyenne Club.

“That’s some building,” he heard Mavis whisper in awe.

“It is,” Beau agreed.

He’d been inside a number of times. Much like the gentlemen’s clubs of London, the clientele was the wealthiest and most influential of the community. Constructed mostly of red brick and sturdy wood, the building made its own unique statement of style and impeccable social standing. A wide veranda and seven chimney stacks surrounded the outside perimeter of the first and second floors, respectively. On the main floor alone, there were two large dining rooms, four billiards rooms and three card rooms.

The club was top-notch, a spectacle to the eye, palate and senses. If Beau was a betting man, he’d have said Tyler was already a member.

The wind suddenly kicked up, bringing a chill to the air and the scent of cold. A sly hint that winter was on its way. Beau remembered how the weather bit hard and left casualties in this harsh northern land.

During his stay, Beau had helped the community grieve a mining accident where the snow had played a
nasty role. It had been a grim time for many, but not always so for Beau. Amelia Jane Nelson had caught his attention, and his admiration. Beau had thought himself in love. Yet the memory of that feeling was drowsy and uncertain now. Try as he might, he couldn’t recall her face in his mind.

Lord, why can’t I remember her? Help me. Help me to sort this out and move on if that is what You want for me.

In the next moment, Beau sensed he wasn’t supposed to remember Amelia or the painful blow she’d dealt him with her rejection. Which made little sense. Thus, he forced his mind to drift back in time.

Daughter to a local cattle baron, Amelia had been kind, godly and well-spoken. Although not a great beauty, her behavior and manners had always been impeccable—unassuming and proper. In Beau’s estimation, she’d represented the perfect choice for a minister’s wife. He’d nurtured hopes that she might become his wife and move to Greeley with him.

She’d dashed those plans with her appalled refusal of his proposal, for equally appalling reasons. He was a son of an actor, after all, a man who ate with sinners. Amelia didn’t want to be the woman to make him a better man, mostly because she thought the task would be impossible.

A sense of lingering dread came with the memory, making his stomach churn.

Would he see her again? Would the pain of her rejection still burn, especially now that she was married to a man who’d attended seminary with Beau? Had Beau’s pride been hurt, or his heart?

Hannah chose that moment to laugh at something
Mavis said to her. Beau angled his head in time to watch the two link arms. Pulling Mavis closer, Hannah pointed at one of the buildings on their right and then another.

Mavis giggled and beamed at her new friend, clearly smitten with the beautiful young actress.

Hannah had that way about her, Beau realized as he watched her steer Mavis to the inside corner of the wooden sidewalk. She made the people around her feel special, as though they mattered more to her than anyone else. She was gracious, captivating, a fairy-tale princess come to life.

And watching her now, he was finally able to pinpoint what made her special.

Hannah Southerland accepted people. All people. She liked them, too, genuinely liked them. And they gravitated to her because of it.

It was no wonder Mavis cherished her.

Of course, the older woman hadn’t discovered her missing tobacco yet, nor Hannah’s role in the confiscation. There would surely be a bit of drama between the two at that point.

Then again…

Hannah would probably know exactly what to do and say to soothe the older woman’s temper.

You’re hooked, Beau.

Which he already knew. The question, of course, was what he planned to do about this unexpected turn of events. One woman had already spurned him because of his bad blood and unconventional ministry. He could never subject Hannah to that sort of prejudice. But what if she was the one for him?

Lord, I’m losing perspective.

Needing a moment to organize his thoughts, Beau
looked to the western sky. Puffs of cotton white drifted against the clear blue backdrop. Much like his life, the fluid clouds glided in random, unpredictable directions, colliding with one another and then bouncing aimlessly in a new direction.

“I’m gonna head over to the jail,” Logan declared when they stopped in front of their destination.

The two-story hotel, with its clapboard front and unassuming entrance, wasn’t grand by any stretch of the imagination, but it was respectable. And, like the rest of the town, clean.

When Beau didn’t respond, Logan turned to address him directly. “I’ll find out what I can about the fugitives while you get the women settled in their room.”

Beau’s gut clenched. Of course. This was not a time to be thinking about his past or his future. There was work yet to do in the present. “I’ll speak with the hotel manager while you’re gone. We’ll meet in the restaurant on the ground floor in an hour.”

Logan nodded, then shot a quick glance to the women. “I’ll see you in a little while, Miss Southerland.”

Hannah touched his arm. “Thank you, Deputy Mitchell. Thank you for accompanying us on this search.”

The deputy’s eyes stared into Hannah’s—a little too long for Beau’s way of thinking—but, eventually, Logan tipped his hat and said, “It’s been my pleasure, ma’am.”

Mavis snorted and then shot her nose into the air.

Logan sighed. His blue eyes flickered with annoyance, but he kept his tone mild. “Good day to you, too, Miss Tierney.”

Without waiting for a response, he crammed his hat farther on his head and took off in the opposite direction.

Mavis stared after the young man with her jaw slack.

“Close your mouth, Mavis,” Hannah said with a soft smile playing at the edges of her lips.

“Miss Tierney?” she said, still gaping after Logan. “Did that boy just call me
Miss Tierney?
”

Beau and Hannah shared an amused look. Snared in her gaze, Beau’s heart hammered hard against his rib cage. He had a surprising urge, one that stunned him with its strength, to grab Hannah’s hand and bring it to his lips.

Of course, now wasn’t the right time or place for such an intimacy.

“That’s what I heard him say,” he said, turning his attention back to Mavis.

“I heard it, too,” Hannah agreed, her voice a breathy whisper.

Was she as affected by Beau as he was by her?

“Humph.” Mavis’s lips pulled past a tight flash of crooked teeth. “We’ll just see about that, now, won’t we?”

She pivoted on her heel and started marching in the direction Logan had taken. Hannah’s hand shot out and grabbed Mavis by the sleeve before the older woman took two full steps.

“You can give him a piece of your mind when he gets back,” she said.

Mavis glared after the young deputy, but acquiesced without further physical resistance. However, she did mutter several epithets about young men who had the nerve to call her names. Some of the terms, if Beau heard her correctly, would have blistered the wallpaper off Charity House’s parlor room.

Miss Mavis Tierney was certainly an interesting woman.

Two hours later, Hannah had made her own observations about her appointed chaperone. None of them were pretty.

“You cannot go to the theater dressed like that,” Hannah said, dropping her gaze over the bold-colored, East Indian tunic that stopped mid-thigh on Mavis’s scrawny
bare
legs.

The dress, and Hannah used that term loosely, was downright shocking.

“I can and I will.”

Honestly, it was like trying to reason with a two-year-old. Yes, the term
theater
was stretching things a bit. In truth, Tyler’s play wasn’t in the new opera house or the playhouse Beau had told them about. Instead, Tyler had chosen to produce, direct and star in an untitled play in the back of a saloon on a makeshift stage.

Well, no matter where the play was performed, Hannah would not allow Mavis to step foot outside their room dressed so inappropriately, both for the weather as well as for propriety’s sake.

“You’ll catch your death,” Hannah said in answer, thinking she deserved a medal for diplomacy when what she really wanted to say would have offended the poor dear.

Mavis crossed her spindly arms over her bird-thin chest. “It’s September.”

“I don’t care what month it is, we’re in Wyoming. The temperature has already dropped several degrees in the last hour. You need more clothes on your body.” Hannah picked up the pair of men’s denim pants the older woman had worn on the train. “At least put these on.”

“I ain’t wearing no man pants to the theater.”

Right. That made sense. Since Mavis wore man pants everywhere else.

Hannah pawed through the pile of clothes strewn on top of Mavis’s bed. She didn’t have time to argue with the stubborn woman. Thanks to Deputy Mitchell’s investigations, and Beau’s persistence with the hotel manager, they’d discovered that Tyler and Rachel were most definitely in Cheyenne
and
staying in the same hotel as they were.

Unfortunately, the renegades had left for the saloon-turned-theater before the information had been conveyed and verified.

Perhaps that had been for the best. Hannah had needed the time to prepare. To pray. To ask God for the courage and wisdom to carry out the most important confrontation of her life.

Eventually she found what she was looking for. “Then wear this.”

Hannah tossed the skirt to the other woman, then watched in frustration as the garment fluttered to the floor untouched.

“Put it on, Mavis, or I won’t let you come with me.”

Mavis stomped her foot. “No.”

Hannah prayed for patience, a prayer that was becoming dangerously close to rote whenever she was in the older woman’s company for longer than a few minutes.

“Why are you being so ornery?” she asked.

“If you’d give me back my tobacco, I’d do whatever you asked of me.”

“Are you blackmailing me, Miss Tierney?”

“Absolutely.”

Hannah shook her finger in her friend’s face. “You are bad. Very, very bad.”

“You don’t let me have a smoke, then I don’t wear no pants
or
no skirt. That’s my deal. Take it or leave it.”

Hannah sighed. “Right then. It’s settled.” Picking up her handbag, she added, “I don’t expect I’ll be back until late tonight. But I’ll bring you something to eat when I do.”

Mavis’s face went dead white, the only sign of her shock. But she recovered quickly. “Sarcasm does not become you, missy.”

“Who said I was being sarcastic?”

“You can’t do this to me. I’m going. And that’s the end of it.” She puffed out her bird chest. “And before I go you’re going to give me back my tobacco.”

With one quick slash of her hand, Hannah dismissed the order. “No.”

“No, I can’t go? Or no I can’t have my tobacco?”

“No to both.”

As if time had slowed, both women took two very determined steps toward one another. Their gazes locked and held.

Mavis scrunched her face into a frown.

Hannah did the same.

Mavis jammed her hands on her hips.

Hannah did the same.

Frozen to the spot, Hannah waited, held firm, gauged her adversary and waited some more.

Five minutes later Hannah was close to losing the patience she’d prayed so hard for earlier.

Thankfully, Mavis cracked first. “I just want one—”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

Mavis stomped her foot again. “You can’t—”

“Oh, but I can.”

Mavis cocked her head and studied Hannah for a long moment. “You ain’t gonna budge, are you?”

“Not an inch.”

“This stubborn side of you is not going to win many hearts.”

Hannah gave her a quick, unrepentant grin. “Perhaps not, but I will win this argument.”

With a snort, Mavis snatched up the skirt at her feet. “Fine. I’ll wear this one.”

“Wise decision.” From the pile on the bed, Hannah plucked a light wool jacket and held it between her thumb and forefinger. “Add this to your ensemble and we’ll call you stage-ready.”

Frowning, Mavis yanked the jacket out of Hannah’s hands and jammed her arms into the sleeves. “You can be downright mean when you want to, Hannah Southerland.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You remind me a little too much of…” A smile slipped onto the corner of Mavis’s lips. “Me.”