Love Blooms in Winter (12 page)

Dale could sit at the table all night. He wasn’t fixing supper at this late hour.

L
eaning against a stall, Tom watched Fisk forge a set of horseshoes. He’d spent the entire week searching for a home for Pauline, and when he wasn’t doing that he’d passed his spare time hanging around the livery. “I don’t get it, Fisk. I’ve asked everyone I’ve met about a place for Pauline. What do folks here do with their elderly?”

Fisk hammered the smoking red-hot steel, focused on his work. Today the milder weather brought a sweat to the man’s brow. Ice melted along the boardwalks. Overhead, blue sky appeared innocent of bad weather.

“Don’t know what to tell you, Tom. Most folks take care of their own. I’d take her in, but I’m afraid the town would frown on the situation.” He glanced up. “That’s a joke, in case you failed to catch it. Don’t know what I’d do with her.”

He flashed a grin that made him look a decade younger than his almost forty years. Tom had taken a liking to the man. He was good company, and other than himself, he’d never met a man who had more railroading in his blood. “Kind of like me.”

“Guess I could put her to work shoeing horses.”

Dwadlo citizens wouldn’t find fault with the living arrangement, but Pauline might. Tom couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of frail Pauline Wilson trying to shoe a horse, but he didn’t doubt she’d give it a go. Tom knew, from what Mae told him, that when she was in her right mind she was cantankerous and self-reliant.

Shoving away from the stall, Tom admitted, “I have to visit a couple over in Pine Grove. Heard they might be interested in boarding Pauline for the right price.”

“Thought you were going to be out of here in a few days.”

“I’ve thought various things since I arrived.” The thought uppermost in his mind was that he wasn’t going to find a suitable place for a ninety-two-year-old woman. “I have a promotion waiting when I get back to Chicago.”

“That right?” Fisk glanced up. “What do you do for the railroad?”

“Upper management.”

The blacksmith whistled. “Your family must be real proud of you.”

“Don’t have family.” Tom settled the hat he’d bought from Dale and then buttoned his heavy jacket.

“You mean other than your aunt.”

Shrugging, Tom smiled. “If you say so. You going to the café tonight?”

“Always do. You plan to be there?”

“Suppose so.” Tom had eaten most of his meals there because he didn’t have the stomach to help a grown man eat when he was capable of doing it himself. Last night Jeremy missed Mae so much that he had packed up and left the men to join her at Dale’s place, though he promised to provide Dale with lunch and dinner every day. Tom told him not to worry about him; he’d fend for himself.

Now it was just Dale and him.

Tom road out to Pine Grove at first light the next morning, and he wasn’t happy with the outcome of his visit. The couple, though young enough, was only out to make a buck. They had no real interest in Pauline but appeared very interested in how much and how often they would get paid.

Was he any better than them? He’d tentatively made a decision as to what he was going to do, and staying in Dwadlo to care for a woman he was certain wasn’t his kin wasn’t part of his plan.

He was willing to support her financially, but that was as far as he’d go. He knew Mae could use the money, so he’d give it to her and let it help her in all aspects. Even though she didn’t think she could do it all, she was strong and he had faith in her. She could care for Pauline because it was unlikely the woman would live much longer, but he just needed to ask Fisk if he was making the right decision.

When he pushed open the heavy livery door later that morning and saw the strong, red-haired man forking hay to the waiting animals, he grinned.

Fisk paused and reached for a jug of water. After taking a swig, he lowered the bottle. “Well, how’d it go?”

“Not well.”

“So what’s next?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Fisk took another long swig and then wiped his mouth on his heavy shirtsleeve. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Seeing as how he’d gotten into the mess that quick, it seemed only fair to walk away under the same circumstances. Almost the same.

“You’re going to just up and leave Pauline on her own?”

“Mae can take care of her.”

“But she shouldn’t have to,” Fisk argued. “She’s your auntie.”

That term was starting to sting. Auntie. He’d tried all week to find one thing about the woman that he recognized, but he couldn’t. And she’d done the same. Last night they had sat in her house—each on an end of the couch because the middle cushion was missing—and tried one more time to connect. Nothing. Not an inkling of recognition on either side. This had turned into a game of futility with no clear winner. “What would you do in my place?”

“Me?” Fisk set the pitchfork aside. “Can’t say. I’ve never been in your boots, but I think it would be a might hard to walk away from the situation.”

Hard? More likely impossible. Tom knew he would look like a selfish soul who had let an old woman die alone, but he’d done his best. No one could expect him to stay around here until Pauline passed, could they? That might be years away. Or it could be tomorrow. Other than her mind failing and a few fainting spells, she seemed to be doing all right.

“Well.” Fisk shook his head. “I don’t think you got the stomach to do it.”

“Watch me.”

Oh, he had the stomach. He had plenty of gumption, and no young woman with big brown eyes was going to stop him from leaving.

Tom settled his hat more firmly. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. I’m going to catch the outbound train in the morning. Mae will understand.”

“Think so?” The sound of steel meeting steel pierced the air. Fisk had finished feeding the stock and had gone back to his fire. “ ’Pears you don’t know women.” Fisk laid the hammer down. “Mae won’t appreciate it, Tom. She has her own problems, plus she’s got no man to take care of her.”

“She has Jake, doesn’t she?”

Laughing Fisk replied, “Not till there’s a ring on her finger. And even after that I doubt he’d be much help.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t mean to talk a man down, but Mallory’s lazy, that’s all.”

Tom had yet to lay eyes on the marriage-dodger, though he hadn’t gone out of his way to seek him out. He knew how difficult things were for Mae, but he had his own problems. After he was settled into his new position he’d come back again for a visit, but for now he’d done all he could.

Fisk used a pair of tongs to pick up the shoe he’d been pounding and dunked it in a barrel of water. Steam plumed. “Don’t know what he’s waiting for. Any man with good sense would grab her and run like a thief. She’s a keeper. But if he hasn’t proposed to her yet, I don’t think it’s likely he ever will.”

Something deep inside Tom hoped Jake never proposed. Mae was a hard worker, but she could certainly use a husband’s help. However, if what Fisk said was right, she’d never get what she deserved from Jake. She was a beautiful woman wasting her youth on someone who obviously didn’t appreciate her.

Shifting to one foot, he studied the situation. His basic instinct was right. He should leave and be done with the matter. The situation would work itself out without his help. It had in the past, and it would after he was long gone.

Though images of Mae’s earnest eyes flashed before him, causing him to question his decision, he knew he couldn’t let her suck him into quicksand. Pauline, Mae—they were strangers to him, and though he hadn’t asked for this promotion, it was offered to him and he deserved it. He’d told Letterman that he hadn’t given a thought as to who would replace Earl Horner, but that was pride talking. For years Tom had prayed to advance, to be singled out for his dedication and long hours. When he’d first started he’d been the company’s lackey, doing anything they asked and going anywhere they sent him without complaint.

At sixteen he’d made choices to buy land and byways that a man with twice his experience made, and he hadn’t failed the railroad yet. He figured he’d earned the promotion and planned to work his backside off to prove they had made a wise choice. But he couldn’t do it here in this tiny poke town with an old woman he knew wasn’t his aunt and a young woman who had pretty eyes. Just how dumb did they think he was? He nodded to Fisk. “I think I’ll mosey on over to Rosie’s and get a cold drink.”

“Have you tried the root beer at the General Store?”

Tom turned. “The what beer?”

“Root beer.”

He shook his head. “I’m not a drinking man.”

“Good thing ’cause Dwadlo don’t have a saloon, ’cept an old farmer’s place outside of town, but Dale got in a few cases of this stuff they’re callin’ root beer. Seems it’s been around a long time but hasn’t reached Dwadlo till recently. It’s mighty tasty. Even got an edge up on sarsaparilla.”

“I have heard of it. Tastes like sarsaparilla.”

“Close enough.” Fisk reached for an earthenware bottle and held it up. “I’ve had me four bottles since yesterday.”

“Then I guess I ought to have a taste.” Nodding, Tom walked away, his earlier question echoing in his ear. Exactly how dumb did Mae Wilkey think he was?

Mae turned when the front door opened and saw that Tom was trying to step inside the store. Dogs swarmed him, barking and snagging onto the hem of his pants.

“Git!”

Growls, barks, and a few mild oaths filled the nearly empty store. The ruckus grew louder until he managed to wedge between the screen and the growling animals. The sight of him made her giddy. It wasn’t that he was so handsome—well, he was handsome in a rugged sort of way. And his clothes were nothing special, though they were always clean and neatly pressed. And it wasn’t even the way he smelled, though the soap he used was most pleasant. Jake was attractive, dressed at the height of men’s fashion, and always had a whiff of tobacco and rum about him—a man’s scent he favored but she didn’t—but Jake did not affect her the way Tom had been doing since he arrived.

She reflected that, as he did make her head swim a little, it was probably a good thing she hadn’t seen much of him since Monday. The talk about town was that he’d asked everyone in the area about taking Pauline in but received nothing but negative responses.

He was suave and professional this morning. She felt color rise to her cheeks when he sauntered over to the ice barrel filled with bottles of root beer. No doubt about it, he was an intriguing man. Jake was more polished, but the contrast was nice. She felt good on Jake’s arm, secure.
Would this man’s arm offer the same assurance and comfort?
She fought back the unexpected thought, cleared her throat, and said, “Good morning, Tom!”