His Forbidden Bride (The Brides of Paradise Ranch (Spicy Version) Book 7) (11 page)

“It’s Solomon,” she panted, clutching a hand to her chest to catch her breath. “There’s trouble at the bank,”

She explained as fast as she could, only hesitating when it came to asking Howard to bring as much cash as he could to the bank as quickly as possible. Howard listened with grave attention. He didn’t seem at all surprised, but luckily for her and for Solomon, he didn’t balk at the request for help either.

“I’d say we’re all fortunate that I haven’t gotten around to making this deposit yet,” he said, rising from his desk and crossing the room to a closet.

Honoria tip-toed after him. She felt a little awkward to stand there and watch as he worked the combination on a small safe tucked in the back of the closet, but her awkwardness melted into relief as he took out a fat handful of bills.

“We’ll take this to him right away and deposit it so that everything looks aboveboard,” he explained, tucking the bills into a pocket inside of his jacket. The pile was so large that he could only fit so much in the pocket. The rest he stuffed into his trousers. Under the circumstances, Honoria didn’t think Solomon would mind. “This is all I have on hand, though,” Howard continued, striding over to take Honoria’s arm and lead her back out to the hall and on outside. “If your father pulls out all the stops, we could be in more trouble.”

They hurried back to the bank only to find two more small ranchers had come in to make withdrawals. Honoria had never seen anything like the relief on Solomon’s face when she and Howard walked through the doors.

“Pardon me, gentlemen, I have a deposit to make,” Howard boomed with all of his good-natured joviality, pushing his way in front of the ranchers.

Howard had brought over three thousand dollars in cash with him. Honoria could hardly believe her eyes as Mr. Greeley counted it all out and tucked it safely into the cash drawer. She had never thought higher than twenty or occasionally fifty dollars at a time for purchases. Suddenly working with such huge sums of cash made her head spin and her heart pound. But both Solomon and Howard seemed used to it.

“What do you plan to do if that isn’t enough?” Howard murmured to Solomon, meeting him at the far end of the counter near the gate as the ranchers made their withdrawals.

Solomon sighed, pushing a hand through his short hair. “I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to liquidate some of my investments.”

Howard nodded grimly. “Gunn will be able to help.”

“But only so much,” Solomon answered. “And everything depends on how far Bonneville’s influence extends.” He sent a sideways look to Honoria.

She felt it as if he’d pierced her with an arrow. “This is all my fault.” She stepped up to the gate, heart bleeding.

“Nonsense!” Howard boomed.

“You know it isn’t.” Solomon slipped his arm around her, drawing her closer. “Your father has had it in for me for years. At best, you’re the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“I would give anything for it not to break at all,” she said, laying a hand on his chest.

Solomon smiled and kissed her lightly. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing we’ve done in the last week.”

The sudden, powerful urge to tell Solomon that she loved him—not just temporarily or for pretend—swept through Honoria. The idea was scandalous, shameless. She couldn’t go loving a man who she’d married for convenience and who she would leave all too soon, and it was better for him if he didn’t develop any feelings for her beyond affectionate friendship. If she could have taken things back, she would have spared him even feeling too much affection for her.

“Well, there is one bit of luck we can be thankful for,” Howard interrupted her heart’s anguish.

“What’s that?” she asked, then cleared her throat and stepped a reasonable distance away from her husband.

Howard gave her a lopsided smile. “Your father doesn’t do his banking here.”

“He doesn’t?” Her brow rose in surprise.

“No,” Solomon said with a huge measure of relief in his voice, as if he too was just realizing how lucky he was. “Like I said, he’s had it in for me for years, so he takes his money all the way to Everland, to their bank.”

“And since that amount is likely considerable, he can’t ruin you by withdrawing it all at once.”

Honoria let out a breath. “That is fortunate.”

But just because he didn’t do his banking at Solomon’s bank didn’t mean he wouldn’t show his face there. An hour or so later, after Howard had gone back to work and the rush of men coming in to withdraw their funds had slowed, Rex himself strode through the bank doors.

Honoria was on high alert the moment she heard his sharp tenor say, “Well, if this isn’t a sorry sight, I don’t know what is.”

She’d only just come back from the hotel, where she’d gone to fetch Solomon lunch, knowing she wouldn’t have time to learn to cook something herself. They were halfway through the meal, but at the sound of her father’s voice, Honoria lost her appetite.

“The criminal and his victim sitting down to a cozy meal together,” Rex went on.

Honoria and Solomon both stood. Honoria rushed toward him first. “I know what you did here, Papa.”

“Of course you do.” Rex shrugged. “I make no secret of the fact that I’ve spread the story of this ape’s misdeeds throughout the county.” Solomon strode up to stand protectively behind Honoria, but Rex went on. “I freely admit that I encouraged them to withdraw their funds from this sorry excuse for a bank.”

“How could you, Papa?” Honoria wasn’t sure if she was more heartbroken or angry.

He didn’t answer her. He barely looked at her. Instead, he turned a smug grin on Solomon. “I expect you’ll be forced to close your doors early. The Wyoming Stock Growers Association won’t look too kindly on that.”

Honoria’s heart stopped in her chest. Solomon scowled. Everyone in Wyoming knew that, while there was a fine government in place in Cheyenne, it was really the WSGA that ran the show in the state. The government was merely a puppet for the WSGA getting what they wanted. And no one regulated the WSGA but themselves.

“As it happens,” Solomon answered with cool calm, his back straight, “the bank has been able to fulfill every withdrawal request we’ve had. We will not be closing early.”

Rex’s grin faltered. “What?”

“Everyone has been given their money,” Honoria answered. “This plan of yours won’t work.” She wasn’t sure what prompted her to say the last bit, but she was glad she did. It actually felt good to stand up to her father.

“We’ll see about that,” Rex growled. At last, his gaze turned to Honoria. “I’m giving you one last chance,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Come home at once.”

“No, Papa.”

His scowl darkened. “Don’t you disobey me, you ungrateful chit. Come home at once! Leave this ridiculous villain and come back to where you belong.”

“No,” Honoria answered again. She took a step closer to Solomon, reaching for his hand. “Solomon is my husband.”

“He is not,” Rex sneered. “He’s a colored fool who seems to have forgotten that it’s illegal to marry a white woman.”

“Not in Haskell, it’s not,” Honoria fired back.

“What kind of life do you plan to have?” Rex shouted. “You take one step outside of this ludicrous town and the authorities will arrest him and drag him to the nearest tree so fast that he won’t have time to blubber out a prayer to save him.”

“You overestimate the number of people who share your antiquated ideas in this part of the country,” Solomon answered. But there was enough tension in his voice and body for Honoria to sense that her father was right to some extent.

The only thing he was wrong about was to ask what kind of a life she planned to have. She had no life in front of her at all. That was the only thing that kept her from crumpling in misery over the position she’d put Solomon in.

“I’m not returning to your ranch with you,” she said to fight off the twin waves of gloom and heartache that attacked her. “Solomon’s home is my home now, and I will stay with him until the end.”

Her father missed the important part of her declaration—the end. He glared at her, jaw clenched. His expression turned deadly as he glanced to Solomon. “So be it,” he growled. “I know what I have to do.”

Without waiting for a reply, he whipped around and stormed out of the bank. Honoria didn’t feel an ounce of relief as he left. The opening salvos had been fired. The war was on.

T
here were only so
many things a bank could do to protect itself from its own customers if they wanted to withdraw their funds.

“The railroad stocks sold quickly,” Solomon reported as Honoria lay in bed with him several days later. “I hate to see them go, though. They were some of the fastest-growing stocks I had.”

“Will you be able to buy them up again when the crisis passes?” Honoria asked. She curled against his side, one leg stretched over his, tracing small circles on his bare chest as her head rested on his shoulder. The question she really wanted to ask was “Will it be enough?”

“Oh, I’ll be able to buy just about everything back again,” he replied, running his fingertips along her bare arm. “But at what price, I don’t know. Part of the brilliance of some of those investments was catching them when the price of the stock was incredibly low. I won’t get nearly as much for my money when I repurchase things, if I can.”

She wouldn’t have been worried but for the last three words. That was the worst of it. Obviously, her father was working hard in the background, although he hadn’t been seen in town for nearly five days. More distant ranchers and cowboys who had trusted Solomon just a short time of go had streamed in to withdraw their money. Solomon had managed not to shut his doors early once during those days, though it was a small blessing that two of those days were Saturday and Sunday, when the bank was closed anyhow. Now it was Monday morning, and the bank would open its doors once more with a much-needed Western Union delivery of cash from the sale of some of Solomon’s stocks.

As much of a relief as those sales were, Honoria wasn’t foolish enough to think her father wasn’t already planning his next move.

She shifted to prop herself above Solomon, knees resting on either side of his hips, her honey-blonde hair falling forward to pool on the dark skin of his chest. “I’ve been thinking that perhaps there’s something else I can do, in a small way, to help you.”

Solomon grinned up at her, brushing his fingertips across her cheek. “You’re already doing far more to help me than you know.” He followed up his comment by smoothing his hands down her sides, pulling the sheets down with them. He cupped her backside, his fingers seeking out the part of her that was already hot and aching for him. The contrast of her body’s heat and the cool air of morning kissing her skin where he’d tugged the sheet away made it difficult for her to think. She adored the way he sparked the fire within her with such bold, intimate touches.

Still, she held it together long enough to say, “I thought I might ask Wendy Montrose if I could go to work at her dress shop.”

Solomon paused his ministrations, his hands covering her backside, and raised an eyebrow. His surprise softened to a smile that was as sensual as his touch. “You don’t need to go to work to support me.” His tone was almost laughing.

“It wouldn’t
only
be for that reason,” she went on, gasping as his fingers delved into the cleft between her legs, sending pleasure shooting through her. “Remember, I said I wanted to make beautiful things to be remembered by. Dresses are beautiful, and I’m quite good at making them.” The words flittered out of her mind almost as soon as they were spoken as she arched her back so that she could rub her tightened nipples against his chest.

“I think we’re making something beautiful right here, right now,” he replied in a low rumble.

Any further argument was utterly forgotten as he lifted his hips and guided himself inside of her. Honoria was surprised by the reversal of positions—her on top, him beneath her. She caught on to the rhythm that was needed to find pleasure that way, though, and the next twenty minutes were spent lost in wild abandon.

Making love didn’t solve the underlying problem, though. As Honoria and Solomon ate a hurried breakfast to make up for the time they’d lost enjoying each other’s company, Solomon finally said, “If sewing for Wendy is something you honestly want to do, for your own satisfaction and not just for me, then by all means, do it.”

“Really?” Honoria whirled around from where she had been putting the last of the breakfast things away and flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Solomon. No one has ever let me have my way like this before. You make me so happy.”

She kissed him soundly before she could check to see if the hint about her miserable past had registered in his expression. Solomon wrapped his arms around her and indulged in the kiss. So much so that by the time he leaned back to take a breath, they were both hot and panting.

“This is not a good indicator of whether I’ll be able to get the bank opened on time.”

Honoria laughed at the teasing. The fact that he could tease in the midst of so much trouble lifted her spirits. “I’ll go speak to Wendy right away. If she’ll have me, I want to start working today. If not…”

“Any woman anywhere in this country would be honored to have you sewing for them,” he said before she could go on.

She kissed him once more quickly, then spun around to rush out the door.

Wendy Montrose had come to Haskell as a mail-order bride the year before. She was intended for Cody Montrose, but as soon as Cody saw that Wendy was black—a detail Mrs. Breashears at Hurst Home in Nashville had forgotten to mention—he refused her. His brother Travis had stepped in, marrying Wendy instead, and a happier couple was hard to find. Wendy had been forced to fight against the same prejudice that Solomon was facing now to prove that she was a talented seamstress who deserved her own dress shop, but fortunately, she’d proven to the town and everyone within several counties that she was as brilliant with a needle as the finest seamstresses in Paris. Honoria should know. She was the one who had sewn most of Melinda’s gowns when her angry sister had challenged Wendy to a dressmaking contest.

Wendy had her own shop on Main Street now—a shop given to her by Howard as the prize for winning the competition. The windows were filled with delectable creations—a couple of full gowns along with intricate bodices, bolts of fabric, and even a few hats she’d ordered from catalogs to sell along with her dresses. Honoria peered through the front door to see if Wendy was downstairs before knocking. Wendy had recently given birth to her and Travis’s first child, a beautiful baby boy, but she was still up and moving around the shop.

“Come in,” she called as Honoria knocked.

With a bright smile for the baby, Honoria swept through the front door. “How is the little treasure today?”

“Hungry as usual,” Wendy laughed. She bundled the baby into Honoria’s arms as she came near. “You don’t have to knock, you know. Not only is my door always open to you, as I’ve said before, it’s a place of business, not an inner sanctum.”

“Old habits,” Honoria explained, her voice pitching higher as tiny Emanuel Montrose blinked and snuggled into her arms. “Good morning, sweet boy,” she cooed.

She reached down to tickle Emanuel, and her heart leapt in her chest as he grabbed her finger. At the same time, part of her wanted to weep. There was little chance that she would be strong enough or last long enough to give Solomon a child before she died, but if she could…

“How can I help you today? Wendy asked, blessedly allowing Honoria to push that thought aside. “Are you looking to buy a gown?”

“No,” Honoria laughed. “Actually, I was coming to see if you needed help sewing.”

Wendy’s eyes went wide. “Do I ever! I’ve got more orders than I can handle, and with this little one begging for so much attention, it’s all I can do to fill them in good time.”

“Oh, I hoped you would say that.” She laughed harder at her words. “I mean, I’m not happy that you’re struggling, but now that I’m…” She stopped herself from hinting that she was dying and shifted to say instead, “Now that I’m married to Solomon and free from my family, more than anything, I want to sew for you.”

“What an incredible compliment!”

Little Emanuel began to fuss, so Wendy took him back and settled him against her shoulder, rubbing his back to calm him. His skin was a shade or two lighter than Wendy’s. Honoria tilted her head to the side and wondered what delicious color her and Solomon’s children could have been. It gave her a sudden boost to know that they wouldn’t be the only children of mixed race in Haskell.

Of course, they wouldn’t
be
, but for a moment it was nice to dream.

“What a lovely smile,” Wendy commented. “I have to say, Honoria, I’ve never seen you looking so happy and so well in all the time I’ve been in Haskell.”

“I—” Honoria didn’t know how to answer. There was no way to explain the truth. As far as she could figure, her improved appearance was just a temporary effect of having things settle into place.

“I also have to say,” Wendy went on, preventing her from having to come up with some sort of awkward excuse, “that I’m ridiculously glad we’ve finally been able to become friends. I’ve been waiting almost a year for this day.”

“Me too.” Honoria beamed. Another wonderful side-effect of getting away from her family and marrying Solomon was that she now had more friends than she’d ever had in her life. “And since you’re my friend,” she rushed on, “I insist you show me what you’re working on right now so that I can help.”

Wendy chuckled and gestured for her to follow her to the back room. “I’ve just had an order for a wedding trousseau for a rancher’s daughter out near Laramie. She wants everything embroidered.”

The two of them shared a look of mock dread for the complicated task in front of them. In truth, Honoria couldn’t have been happier. It was almost as if she wasn’t sick at all and she had the world stretching out in front of her.

* * *

“…
a
nd one
, two, three, four, five.” Solomon finished counting the bank’s cash drawer under his breath. “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be,” he told Horace.

“I think that most of the major ranch owners close to Bonneville have already come in,” Horace said. He touched the edge of the second box they’d set up for the account cards of men who had withdrawn their funds. What worried Solomon was that the box that held cards for open accounts was still much fuller.

He huffed an ironic laugh, shaking his head. “Give him time. Bonneville is persistent. We probably haven’t seen him in town because he’s out there rallying people to his cause.”

Horace gave him a sympathetic look and put the account boxes and the main ledger away. “It’ll all work out, boss. People will get over this fit, and when they see what a nuisance it is to take their money all the way to Everland or Rawlins, they’ll be back.”

“I hope you’re right,” Solomon sighed.

The bank’s door opened, and once again, the uncomfortable pinch of worry in his gut over whether this next customer was the one who dealt the death-blow hit him. His relief was epic when he saw it was Howard and Gunn.

“Solomon!” Howard boomed as Howard did. “We’ve come to take you to lunch.”

That pinch in his gut twisted to something entirely too sentimental. He’d always had friends, but for some reason that fact felt so much more important now. Honoria’s sweetness and feeling must be rubbing off on him.

Which was just fine as far as he was concerned.

He headed to the gate and crossed into the lobby. “Normally I would turn you down. There’s so much work to do. But I can’t deny that I’m grateful for your presence today.”

“Good.” Gunn nodded. “That’s as it should be.”

Solomon thumped Gunn’s back as he met his two friends at the door. They headed out into the hot summer day. Instead of turning left to head up to the hotel, they turned right and walked a few doors down to The Silver Dollar. The choice put a smile on Solomon’s face. Sam didn’t serve much in the way of food in his saloon, but he too was a good friend. At the moment, that was more important than fine dining.

“About time you three got here.” Sheriff Trey Knighton was waiting with Sam at a table near the bar along with Travis Montrose and Luke Chance. The saloon didn’t see a lot of business in the middle of the day, and that day was no exception. Aside from Solomon’s friends, there were only a few tired vagrants snoozing in the corner. Sam habitually let men who were down on their luck take shelter in the saloon. The thought crossed Solomon’s mind that as rough as Sam was, he should really find himself a good wife too. Hurst Home was still a fine option for a man looking to marry. Quite a few girls had come from there to marry ranch hands and tradesmen since Franklin Haskell started the trend.

“We saved you a seat.” Travis tugged one of the chairs away from the table with the toe of his boot. He wore a confident, almost teasing smirk.

“Gentlemen.” Solomon greeted the circle of his friends with a nod, but was instantly suspicious. “What’s this party all about?”

Luke slapped his back as he reached the empty chair. “We figured we had a few things to discuss.”

“Is that so?” Solomon sank into the chair.

The others quickly followed suit. Sam brought over a round of beers before sitting himself, making the table designed for eight feel like a boardroom. Domenica and Pearl from Bonnie’s place marched out of the back room with trays of stew and fresh bread, as if the saloon was suddenly a restaurant and they were waitresses.