Love in the Balance (3 page)

“I suppose I must make an attempt at civility. If it weren’t for my disdain for ungentlemanly behavior, this situation could certainly provoke me toward churlishness.” He made a big show of looking around the hotel’s dining room, rotating his shoulders as if his chin were fused to his chest. “Fortunately, the presence of witnesses bolsters my restraint.”

Molly leaned her elbows on the table. “Please, Mr. Fenton, be seated. There’ll be enough said about us dining together as it is. We gain nothing by feigning misery.”

“You may feign. My pain is real.” But he pulled out the chair and sat, doing his best to avoid her gaze. “The lengths to which we submit to pacify our families . . .”

Molly’s eyes widened at the insult. My, what a tantrum he could throw. How dare he act condescending. He was courting the blacksmith’s daughter, for crying aloud.

She fought the desire to retaliate. Less than a month had passed since her last public dispute with a man. She’d have to use a different approach.

“If it weren’t for my parents, I wouldn’t be here, and I assume you are in a similar situation. If you want to revolt, you have my blessing, but please spare me your unpleasantness. I am not your enemy.”

Molly had spoken as sweetly as possible, and still his wide eyebrows rose. “I wondered why, despite your well-favored appearance, your parents felt they needed to sweeten the deal with part ownership in the mill. Now I understand. No doubt your sharp tongue has chased off several offers.” He studied her as he waved the waiter over. “Miss McGraw would never accuse me of being unpleasant.”

Molly smiled at the waiter, taking a moment to bask in the appreciation reflected in the man’s eyes, but was she only attractive to poor men? Well, she’d promised her parents she’d give Fenton a chance. They couldn’t fault her if the results didn’t satisfy. Besides, knowing she had a suitor might build a fire under Bailey. It’d been weeks and she had no news of his progress.

“Prue is an angel, on that we can agree. And you’ve probably never had a reason to be unpleasant with her.”

“True. She is the most gentle, most sincere woman I’ve ever met. It pains me to think of what this is doing to her.” His jaw grew so tight that his ears moved.

“I’ve tried to explain to Prue, Mr. Fenton. I’ve promised her I’m not attempting to steal your affections and that you definitely have no interest in me, but she doesn’t understand the pressures visited upon us.” Molly slid her napkin off the table and spread it in her lap as the memory of Prue’s tear-streaked face appeared before her. “Surely if we both reassure her, we’ll make it through this trial without further damage. Then we can honestly tell our families that we became acquainted and have no interest in furthering the relationship.”

“And hopefully such a declaration can be made before our association becomes noticed—”

“Mr. Fenton, I’d hoped to find you about today.” Judge Rice’s periwinkle eyes peered from a weather-lined face. Like a courtly gentleman, he bowed slightly to Molly before continuing. “It’s come to my attention that my young stenographer is suffering from some form of distress, and I thought you might be able to enlighten me.”

“She is?” Fenton sprang to his feet. “Where is she?”

“No, son, not of that nature.” With a hand on the shoulder he guided Fenton back to his seat. “She’s moping about, sighing as ladies are wont to do when grieved.” His keen eyes rested on Molly. “I’m sure you understand, Miss Lovelace. Perhaps you would have insight as to what ails her.”

Molly kept her chin lifted. Of course she knew, and so did the judge. “Perhaps her father is interfering with matters of the heart. That seems to be a frequent culprit these days.”

“Mr. McGraw? I think not, but I hope that we, her friends, can ease her discomfort.” He rapped his knuckles against the table with the same hand that usually held the gavel. “I won’t keep you from your meal or your . . . uh, conversation . . . but I offer that food for thought should you be able to relieve her distress. Good day.”

They both sat, chastened, until the keen gentleman left the room.

“Insufferable,” muttered Mr. Fenton. “I’ll admit you are a victim of the same parental ailment that plagues me, but how can we proceed?”

Molly’s mouth lifted on one side. She needed to be alert to walk this tightrope, and holding grudges exhausted her. “We will proceed together, Mr. Fenton. That might be the quickest way to get apart.”

Bailey Garner sat high in his saddle, enjoying the prestige of riding through Lockhart at his cousin’s side. Tipped hats, deferential nods—people respected Weston Garner, and Bailey hoped someday to be as highly regarded as his eldest cousin, former employer, and mentor. No wonder Molly’s parents had hoped Weston would favor their daughter. He’d been surprised that Weston had shown no interest in Molly, but maybe she’d been too young for the old man. Downright crotchety at times, he was. Still, Bailey was glad when his aunt Louise returned from Mexico with that beautiful widow, Rosa. The Lovelaces never would’ve allowed Molly to step out with him until Weston was spoken for. Now with a wife and a newborn son, Weston was well settled—another reason Bailey envied him.

The Lovelaces, as well of most of Caldwell County, held the Garner family in high regard. Coming from South Carolina before the war, the Garner boys had claimed a large spread that grew every year. His cousin Weston, old enough to merit the title “Uncle” from Bailey’s little sisters, had prospered on his ranch, Palmetto. Weston’s sister, Eliza, and her husband, Jake, were working the land that they’d purchased from his aunt Louise when her marriage to the shop owner moved her to town.

Bailey’s parents, George and Mary Garner, lived nearby and ran sheep with the help of his brothers, but they never seemed to get ahead like the rest of the family and often relied on their relatives to make ends meet.

“Is your mother’s family expecting you?” Weston asked.

“Yes, sir. Uncle Matthew’s got me a job, and Aunt Frances is putting me up. I’m all set.”

Weston swerved closer to avoid a wagon that pulled into the street. “I guess you’ve prayed through this, but it seems like a contradiction, if you ask me. You swear off Molly, and then you move to Lockhart. Don’t know but what you aren’t playing with fire.”

“Believe me, I’ve wondered aplenty if I’m doing the right thing, but this seems best. There’s no future for me on the ranch, not with two brothers who’ll want their share. I’ve always known I wanted to move to town and have a career. Now that Samuel and Tuck can take up the slack, I’m free to make my fortune.”

“So you’re doing it for your gal, but doing it without your gal?”

“It’s like to drive me crazy not talking to her, but we needed to take a few steps back to get on the right path again. Besides, I don’t need any distractions, because until I can support Molly, it’s clear that God has said, ‘Not yet.’” He saw Weston’s shoulders twitch with mirth. “All right, maybe Molly’s parents said it, too, but I’ll keep my distance until God changes their minds or my income, because I’m hooked. Ever since primer school when she whooped everyone at arithmetic drills, I knew she was the girl for me.”

“Of all the credentials I’ve heard for a wife, that’s got to be one of the strangest.”

Bailey was no good at sums, but he could decipher Molly, and she knew it. Long ago she’d given up trying to keep secrets from him. She needed him. And he needed to be needed.

Bailey’s knees tightened around the saddle as they approached the hotel. He couldn’t keep the doubt from crawling back. Did Molly remember why he was leaving her alone?

“It’s a brave move to risk losing your girl.” Weston reined his horse toward the hitching post. “One caution, though. Don’t get discouraged if you stumble. Sometimes we have to deal with the same temptations time and time again.”

“We’re supposed to be ‘more than conquerors,’” Bailey protested.

“Conquerors can lose a few battles along the way. Just yesterday I was talking to your pa—”

Bailey dismounted and looped the reins tightly over the hitching post, trying to avoid a reciting of his pa’s story. They’d almost lost their ranch and endangered his aunt Louise’s farm because of his father’s love of cards. He didn’t need Weston to remind him of his family’s embarrassment. George Garner was a fine man. His pa loved him like the dickens, but Bailey was made of sterner stuff. Thank the Lord he didn’t inherit the same weakness.

“I’m starved.” Bailey nodded to the wide hotel with the real second story. “This place looks good.” And smelled good, too. His stomach gurgled at the meaty aromas wafting out the swinging batwing doors. Aunt Frances wasn’t expecting him until suppertime, and with her houseful of children he knew better than to show up unannounced and hungry.

Bailey followed Weston into the restaurant and nearly bumped into his back when he stopped abruptly. Weston turned around.

“Let’s go to the Hungry Drover. It won’t be as full.”

“I don’t mind. Got to get used to the hustle and bustle of a crowd if I’m going to live in town.” Bailey stepped past his cousin, afraid he was about to dig in his heels.

And there she sat.

Molly spotted him at the same moment.

Bailey groaned as he took measure of the uptight man with the pinched face and beetle-brown sack suit. It didn’t take a genius to figure what she was up to.

“No wonder you threw on the brakes.”

“I tried to warn you.” His older cousin avoided controversy like preachers avoided the Minor Prophets, and for once Bailey was grateful.

“Weston? Is that you?” The man’s voice traveled over the din to lasso them.

The cousins exchanged weary glances, but Weston was trapped.

With one last dark look at him, Weston turned. “Hello, Mr. Fenton, Miss Lovelace. How y’all doing?”

Bailey had no choice but to follow as Weston did his duty. Molly’s gown, the same dusky color as a rain cloud, suited his mood. He’d anticipated her parents would present her with new suitors, but not that she’d fold so easily. At least her companion didn’t look pleased. If watching Molly talk to other men got this Fenton character riled, he’d better poke his eyes out.

“Mr. Fenton, my cousin Bailey Garner.”

The man stood and offered his hand.

“Mr. Fenton works at the bank.” Molly set her fork down next to her plate and wiped her fingertips on the napkin. “Our fathers are business associates.”

He should’ve known. Bailey shook hands with the man and then tried to wipe off the contact on his canvas britches.

“Pleased to meet you.” But he wasn’t.

“I heard you’re building a new house,” Weston said.

“Yes, it’s nearing completion.”

“Is that the new two-story with the beautiful mansard roof on San Antonio Street?” Molly asked, leaning halfway across the table.

Fenton nodded.

“It’s magnificent.”

Bailey narrowed his eyes. Was she sincere or merely pretending for his benefit? It didn’t matter. Mr. Fenton squirmed like a worm on a hook. He looked longingly at his plate of roast beef.

“Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me, Weston, Mr. Garner. My dinner hour is nearly over, and I’ve yet to finish my meal.”

Bailey looked up to see Molly scowling at him. She narrowed her eyes and then cooed to Fenton with the subtlety of an auctioneer, “It’s a pity you don’t have time to converse, but I guess the bank can hardly do without you. Perhaps we can visit with the Mr. Garners some other time.”

She paused, offering them the opportunity to voice their regrets.

Boy, was she putting on a show, trying to herd them all exactly where she wanted them. But Bailey wouldn’t be led by the nose. Time to stampede.

He picked up an empty chair from the nearest table with one hand and slung it between his legs, dropping into it backwards. “There’s nowhere in the world that I’d rather be than here, becoming better acquainted with Mr. Fenton.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Oh?”

“Yes, I’ve long been fascinated with the banking business. I’m sure it’s a breathtaking and dangerous venture. And your house, Mr. Fenton?” He batted his eyes and raised the pitch of his voice an octave. “Oh, I so admire everyone who lives on San Antonio Street.”

Molly’s attempts to incinerate him with her eyes failed. He was fireproof.

“Bailey,” Weston warned.

Bailey cringed, not sure by which piece of his anatomy Weston might drag him out, but his mentor could hardly act as barbaric in the eatery as he would’ve on the ranch.

Weston nudged the leg of his chair. “There’s not room at the table for four. Let them finish alone.”

But Mr. Fenton blinked first. He smirked at Molly although he spoke to Weston. “No, please. Take my place. It’s an honor I’m willing to relinquish. Please pass the seat on to the next man when he arrives.”

“You must disregard him, Mr. Fenton. He is leaving.” She got to her feet, but her protests were losing strength.

Fenton tossed a bill on the table, dipped his head to Weston, ignored Bailey, and left the dining room as fast as his rounded-toe shoes allowed.

“You ran off my escort. Father will not be happy,” Molly said.

But she didn’t look upset. Despite the hand on her hip, she seemed relieved. Her eyes sparkled and her pert mouth tilted.