Lisa Plumley (9 page)

Chapter Six

I
t was near midnight by the time Cade looked up from the gambling table. Mexican monte with Blackhouse had turned into roulette with Adams, which had led to craps with Sheriff Caffey, which had segued into “bucking the tiger” with a new batch of local gamesters and everyone’s favorite sin: faro.

Now, with an almost empty whiskey bottle at his elbow, a pile of cash winnings beside it and a too-friendly saloon girl eyeing both him
and
his latest hand of cards, Cade knew he should have felt on top of his game. Instead he felt morose and brooding and downright solitary. He wasn’t alone; not precisely. But he felt as detached from his opulent, risk-engendering, sinfulness-stoking surroundings as he possibly could have.

When had green baize and playing cards become so dull? How had scantily clad women and wagering opponents stopped being stimulating? Where was he supposed to go for satisfaction now?

He hadn’t entered into the gambling world for thrills, Cade reminded himself. But somewhere along the way, while searching for Whittier and tracking his movements within the circuit, he’d become used to the distracting pleasures that world offered him.

Glancing around the table now as he idly placed his next bet, Cade couldn’t help wondering: When he got the answers he needed from Whittier...what then? What would be left for him then?

As if in answer to that question, a gray-haired man stepped through the crowd of saloon goers. He wore a sober pressed suit, a minister’s clerical collar and a starched-looking hat. From beneath its dark brim, his full, silvery whiskers were plainly evident; so was his determined expression. Whatever Reverend Benson had come to the saloon for, it was important to him.

“Foster!” Reverend Benson barked. “I want a word with you.”

Aha. The minister had come regarding Violet, then. Cade had been expecting this—for quite a while, in fact.

“Just
one
word?” Cade gave the older man’s lowered eyebrows and indomitable features a chary look. He set down his cards, readying himself. “I reckon you want more than that, don’t you?”

“Don’t be impertinent.”

“I’m guessing you’ve got a whole passel of words saved up, all ready to unleash on me.” Cade clinked together his winnings. With deft movements, he pocketed his money. Beside him, the showily painted saloon girl blinked, obviously surprised at his speedy movements. “Let me guess—they start with ‘stay away’ and end with ‘my daughter.’ Am I close, Reverend?”

The older man compressed his mouth, seeming displeased.

Knowingly, Cade grinned. “You’re not the first father I’ve run into during my travels. I doubt you’ll be the last.”

But he was the only one Cade had ever felt disappointed to be having this conversation with. The realization puzzled him.

“That only makes my business with you all the more urgent.”

“To you? Maybe.” Cade shrugged. “But to me, this is just the latest town. The latest game. The latest overprotective father, determined to guard his daughter’s virtue.” Aware of their observers’ curious looks, Cade met Reverend Benson’s gaze squarely. If the reverend thought they’d forged some sort of friendship just because Cade had slipped the man an improving card...well, he’d better think again. Cade didn’t form alliances. “The only thing that makes you different, Reverend, is you’re less likely to swear at me. Or to try to swing a punch.”

“Keep talking.” Frowning, Reverend Benson made a fist. “You might inspire me to show you that you’re wrong about that.”

Impressed, Cade raised his eyebrows. Maybe he had misjudged this particular soft-spoken father. “Violet wouldn’t like that.”

“You don’t know what my daughter likes.”

“Mmm. I think I do.” He had when he’d been kissing her. But admitting as much would be beyond indiscreet—and Cade was nothing if not restrained. His lonely life had taught him to be. Carelessly, he dragged on his suit coat. He adjusted his lapels, then made himself smile. “You’re here later than I expected,” he observed, glancing up at the minister again. “Most fathers would have voiced their objections to me long before now.”

Reverend Benson straightened. “
I
am not most fathers.”

“Violet is not most women.” Lazily, Cade rose. “So I’m curious to know. Why have you waited this long to protect her?”

Benson’s eyes bulged. Growing red faced, he pointed a shaky finger at Cade. “Your intentions
are
dishonorable, then?”

Another smile. “If they were, would I admit it?”

“Talk straight with me!” The reverend raised his voice. “I’m here, man to man, to manage this situation between you and Violet. To offer you a wager! But if you insist on speaking in riddles with me, then it will be impossible for us to—”

“A wager?” His curiosity piqued, Cade went still. No domineering papa or interfering uncle or matchmaking mother had ever suggested a wager. Not to him. Especially not with regard to a woman like Violet. He’d been hoping he could use charm and conviviality to earn Reverend Benson’s blessing to call on Violet—eventually—but that tactic no longer seemed available...not given the man’s current combativeness. “What sort of wager?”

Reverend Benson glanced around. Across Jack Murphy’s boisterous saloon, the piano still pinged out a bawdy tune. Gamblers still placed their bets. But near the table where Cade had done his wagering so far, all was silent in anticipation.

“A private one,” Benson said firmly. “Let’s talk alone.”

That seemed fair. With another shrug, Cade left behind his latest game. “Keep the table warm, gents,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll be back directly to clean your pockets.”

Amid the genial, profanity-filled objections of his fellow sporting men, Cade followed Reverend Benson to the saloon’s back room. Whatever Violet had done to bewitch him into wanting her by his side, Cade realized, it must be nigh irresistible.

Otherwise, how else to explain the fact that he was about to risk angering a man of God—and maybe the Almighty Himself—in a wager that was sure to be foolish at best?

But he didn’t have much to lose, Cade reminded himself as he shut the door behind himself and Reverend Benson. His search for Whittier was leaching away whatever hopefulness he’d once had. If a fresh bet could enliven his night, what was the harm?

* * *

Standing in the minuscule, inadequately heated Morrow Creek train station office on a brisk autumn morning, Violet accepted a stack of registers and paperwork from Joseph Abernathy, the clerk. It was an awkward exchange. Joseph had lost partial use of his hand and arm a few years ago during a sawing accident at the Copeland Lumber Mill, so his grasp on the records was a bit precarious. But his smile, which he offered her in conjunction with the leather-bound books, appeared every bit as bright and boyish as it always had.

“Here you go, Miss Benson,” he said cheerfully. “All our receipts from last spring all the way up to last week.”

“That will be fine. I shouldn’t need any more than that.” Knowing the records in her grasp ought to provide her with at least a first step in tracking Tobe’s arrival with his mother in Morrow Creek, Violet smiled. “Thank you very much, Joseph. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help. Again. This must be the fourth favor you’ve done for me in as many months.”

“Pshaw. It’s no problem at all!” Joseph insisted. “After everything you’ve done for me, it’s the least I could do. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know what would have happened to me.”

He meant after he’d lost his job at the lumber mill, Violet knew. He’d been deeply distraught. But all that was behind him.

“The depot is fortunate to have you.” Joseph’s position there—wrangled by the combination of Violet and mill owner Marcus Copeland, working together—had been a snap to procure. “You’re smart and hardworking, and that uniform suits you, too.”

This time Joseph blushed, all the way to his ears. “That’s what Miss Hartford told me. That she likes me in my uniform.”

“Really?” Intrigued and pleased, Violet hugged the records to her chest. “How are things progressing between you two?”

Somewhat shyly, Joseph confided his plans to propose to his longtime beloved, Miss Letitia Hartford. Violet liked Joseph; she was happy for him. For the first time when hearing such romantic news, she didn’t feel even a twinge of jealousy or self-pity.
She
had someone to care for, too, Violet remembered—someone who cared for her, also. Someone who wanted to kiss her!

Cade might be an unusual partner, but he was a dazzling one. His interest in her now made up for years of disregard.

“Well, good luck with your proposal.” Warmly, Violet gave Joseph a parting squeeze to his upper arm. “I have business to conduct at the Lorndorff Hotel—” meaning she had more records to retrieve there “—a few letters to mail and then a sewing bee to get to. My women’s group is making quilts for needy families this year, and there’s a great deal of work left to be done.”

“That’s mighty kindhearted of you, Miss Benson.”

Violet merely shrugged. “It’s as much for me as it is for anyone else. I’m so blessed—how could I
not
share that?”

“Knowing you? You couldn’t.” Joseph tipped his cap. With a leading look, he added, “I only hope you and your Mr. Foster will be as happy together as me and Miss Hartford are.”

“If you’re angling for grist for the gossip mill, I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.” Violet grinned. “Despite rumors to the contrary, Mr. Foster and I share a simple friendship.”
With kisses. Lots and lots of kisses
. “That’s all.”

At least until Papa agrees I may see Cade
. And then....

“Absolutely,” Joseph agreed, eyes wide with sham naïveté. “No one is expecting a wintertime engagement for you at all!”

An engagement
. Wouldn’t that be extraordinary?

With the notion taking root in her heart for the first time, Violet considered precisely what such a remarkable event would mean: that she was loved...
beloved
. That she could finally give herself to someone on a more personal basis than the broad generosity required for quilted coverlets or charity kitchens.

That would be the fulfillment of her dreams for certain. But did
she
—plain-featured, overlooked Violet Benson—truly dare to hope for such a momentous occurrence? Cade insisted he wanted her. Joseph and several of her friends seemed to agree that they could become a credible couple. So what was stopping her?

“Well, perhaps everyone
should
expect that!” Violet dared to say. At the immenseness of her boast, her heartbeat hammered madly. If she wasn’t careful, soon she’d be bluffing as often and as recklessly as Cade. But at the same time, she couldn’t help remembering exactly what Cade had told her the other day.

Give over, Violet. Do it. It’s the only way to feel alive
.

She
wanted
to give over to her wildest impulses. She did. Cade had helped her to recognize that from their very first dance. Already, Violet realized, she was well on her way.

Perhaps now she could go even further.

Joseph blinked, appearing slightly less teasing—and slightly less sure. “We should expect an engagement? For
you
?”

Heedless of the hesitation now edging into her friend’s voice, Violet brightened. She
should
do it! she decided. She should do
something
, at least. She should...seize this rare opportunity at courtship and gamble on love herself! Everyone seemed to believe she’d done so already. So why not do it?

After all, Cade believed she could bring him good luck. There was no reason to suspect she couldn’t improve her own fortunes at the same time. With Cade still ensconced, so far as she knew, in his luxurious room at the Lorndorff Hotel—her next intended destination—there was no time like the present.

There was no time like now to truly
fly
. With Cade.

Fired up now and full of newfound verve—not to mention a budding hope that what existed between her and Cade might grow into something more—Violet gave Joseph’s arm another squeeze.

Then she turned hurriedly to leave.

“By the first snowfall, we could
both
be engaged to be married,” Violet told Joseph as she left. “Let’s hope so!”

“For your sake,” Joseph vowed sincerely, “I
do
hope so!”

Was that more
doubt
suffusing his voice, making him sound uncertain and wary? Violet didn’t think so. Assuring herself she was doing the right thing, she offered Joseph a heartfelt goodbye. Then, with her documents hugged to her chest and her heart filled with a heady mix of bravado and sheer until-now-untapped determination, Violet left the train depot and headed for the tall, two-story opulence of the Lorndorff Hotel...and somewhere inside it, Cade Foster’s scandalously enjoyable embrace.

* * *

To be a good gambler, a man had to be both observant and detached, interested and wary. He had to be willing to risk everything on the turn of a card or the roll of a dice. He had to possess sufficient grit to stay the course even when fortune didn’t spin his way. Most of all, he had to keep his word. Otherwise, he’d rightly be labeled a liar and a cheat, and the gambling world would snap shut to him for the rest of his days.

That’s why, last night when Cade had lost his wager with Reverend Benson, he’d had to accept the consequences. He’d had to move forward like a man. For the sake of his reputation, he’d had to smile at Violet’s father, nod in acceptance of his fate and move on straightaway.

Last night, Cade had done all those things. Today, in the unforgiving light of a bleak new morning, he almost wished he hadn’t. The stakes that Reverend Benson had set—and Cade had foolishly and arrogantly accepted—were just too high.

If you win,
the minister had said,
you may court my daughter. You may call on Violet and entertain her in public. Eventually, if she agrees, you may even marry her.

And because, to a whiskey-soaked and overconfident Cade, that prize had sounded nigh irresistible, he’d agreed readily.