Margaret Brownley - [Rocky Creek 02] (11 page)

Mr. Hampton glanced at her. “Trevor thinks bob wire is inhumane to animals. Calls it the devil’s rope.”

Her jaw tensed at the very thought of animal injury. “Is . . . is he right?”

Hampton made a derisive sound with his mouth. “If you ask me, Trevor’s more concerned about his bankroll than cowhide. A bob wire fence is horse high and bull strong. You can’t say the same for a wood fence. That’s not something a sawmill worker wants to hear.”

The road straightened and veered away from the river’s edge. He clicked his tongue, snapped the reins, and the horses picked up speed.

Mary Lou couldn’t resist a backward glance at the small dot of fire on the opposite shore.

The sawmill
. Heart pounding, she sat back in her seat.

The boys and me are planning a little get-together .
. .

A mental picture of herself dancing in Jeff Trevor’s arms came to mind. She sighed a deep sigh and blinked, but the vision remained with her all the way back to town.

If Mr. Hampton noticed her silence, he gave no indication. If anything, he seemed to enjoy talking without interruption. “I’m telling you, bob wire is what’s taming the West, not the railroads. And I’ll tell you another thing—”

By the time Mr. Hampton pulled up in front of the hotel, Mary Lou had a headache.

He scrambled to the ground and helped her from the carriage. Bowing, he held her hand. “Perhaps you would do me the honor of your company in the near future.”

Mary Lou forced a smile, but all she said was, “Good night, Mr. Hampton.” She turned and hurried into the hotel, through the empty lobby, and up the stairs.

Jeff Trevor stepped out of the shadows at the landing.

Startled, she jumped back, heart pounding. “You nearly scared me to death,” she gasped.

Offering no apology, he greeted her with a half smile. “If your rush to escape is any indication, I’d say you found Mr. Hampton as much of a bore as I do.”

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing her evening was a dismal failure, she leveled a steady gaze at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just curious to know how my
fiancée
enjoyed her little carriage ride,” he said.

Her mouth dropped open. His brazen behavior never failed to amaze her. “I am
not
your fiancée, and it’s none of your business.”

She started past him, but he grabbed her by the arm. The flesh beneath his touch prickled, sending streaks of warmth throughout her body, but she would not be intimidated by him.

“That bad, eh?” he drawled, his head close to hers, his breath hot against her already heated face. “I’m sure you’ll find an outing with me much more to your liking.”

Trembling, she pulled her arm away. “I–If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave before my sister finds you here.”

He studied her intently. “Very well, but I’ll be back.”

He lifted his fingers to her cheek. Shocked by his impertinent persistence, she slapped his hand away, but the heat of his touch remained. He winked and stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

Hand on her burning face, she hurried down the hall, his low warm laughter trailing after her.

Fumbling for the door handle, she glanced over her shoulder. He stood looking at her, his eyes blazing with intensity. Her mouth dry, she slipped into the room, closing the door quietly but firmly behind her.

Jenny looked up from the desk with a bright smile. “Mr. Hampton brought you home on time as promised. He really is a gentleman. I do hope you expressed your gratitude.”

Mary Lou pulled off her shawl and tossed it on a chair.

“Do tell us everything,” Brenda cried. She sat cross-legged on the bed, bouncing up and down in eager anticipation. Dressed in a muslin nightgown, her hair hung down her back in a single long braid.

“There’s not much to tell,” Mary Lou said. “Unless you’re interested in
bob
wire.”

“Barbed wire?” Brenda frowned. “Is that what Mr. Hampton talked about?”

“And talked about and talked about and talked about.” Mary Lou whirled across the room in circles until she was close enough to the window to peer outside without seeming obvious. Mr. Trevor walked across the street with easy strides and mounted his horse. He glanced up at her window and she quickly drew back. After a long moment, she chanced another look and he was gone.

“Surely he must have talked about something else,” Brenda pressed.

“The man is a bore,” Mary Lou said. “I would rather have spent the evening with a lamppost.”
Or Mr. Trevor
. The unbidden thought left her breathless and she flopped down on the bed.

“I found Mr. Hampton to be a very interesting and intelligent man,” Jenny said.

“Then
you
go out with him!” With that, Mary Lou promptly burst into tears for no good reason.

“Oh, dear.” Jenny hurried to her side. Pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve, she dabbed at Mary Lou’s cheeks and hovered over her like an old mother hen.

The moment her tears subsided, Jenny questioned her, an anxious look on her face. “Did Mr. Hampton . . . do something?”

Mary Lou shook her head. “No, he was a perfect g–g– gentleman,” she said. “Just like you said.”

Jenny smoothed her hair away from her face. “Are you sure? You would tell me if he wasn’t, wouldn’t you? If he tried to—”

Mary Lou pushed Jenny’s hand away. “I told you, he was a gentleman.”

Brenda bounced up and down again. “Maybe
that’s
the problem.”

“That just shows how little you know,” Mary Lou said, sticking her tongue out.

Jenny stood back, hands at her waist. “So what
is
the problem?”

“I told you he’s a bore, and I don’t want to ever see him again! He even makes Mr. Wordsworth seem interesting.”

Jenny sighed. “It would be a shame to waste such a strong candidate. There doesn’t seem to be as many eligible men here as that newspaper article suggested. Perhaps”—she turned to look at Brenda—“Mr. Hampton would consider courting you.”

Brenda paled, but Jenny didn’t seem to notice. Instead, she hastened to the desk—a woman clearly on a mission— and pulled a sheet of stationery from the drawer.

She thought for a moment then checked both
The Compleat and Authoritative Manual to Attracting and Procuring a Husband
and
The Worcester Letter Writer
.

Mary Lou raised her eyes to the water-stained ceiling. It was never a good sign when Jenny consulted her reference books.

“Dear Mr. Hampton . . .” Jenny said aloud, putting pen to paper. “I shall forever be in your debt for the kind attention you’ve shown my sister, Mary Lou. However, I believe it would be in both our best interests if you would kindly consider courting Brenda instead.”

Brenda’s eyes widened in alarm and, for the first time in her life, Mary Lou felt sorry for her.

Nine

A lady, if promenading, must avoid seeking the attention of the
opposite sex. Looking over one’s shoulder to gauge a man’s interest is never permitted.

— M
ISS
A
BIGAIL
J
ENKINS
, 1875

T
he following morning, Jenny left the hotel and headed for the general store. It was still early but already the air shimmered with heat. The horse-drawn sprinkler wagon had passed earlier. Nevertheless, the stage churned up clouds of dust as it barreled into town.

The marshal stood in front of his office talking to Redd Reeder. Neither man paid her any attention. Bracing herself, she passed by with nary a glance at Marshal Armstrong, but no amount of determination could keep her from looking back to see if he had noticed her.

Had she not been so busy peering over her shoulder, she might have seen the boy darting out of the general store. As it was, she didn’t know what hit her. One moment she was standing properly upright, the next flat on her back, her petticoats in shocking disarray.

Dazed, she stared up at a youth of perhaps eleven or twelve. The hair that fell over his eyes failed to hide the startled look on his young face.

“Ma’am, I—”

Mr. Fairbanks ran out of his shop wielding a broom and yelling, “Why you—”

The boy glanced at the shopkeeper, then back at her. Self-preservation evidently taking precedence over common courtesy, he took off running with the shopkeeper close behind.

Rhett reached her side, followed by Redd, but already she was on her feet.

“Stop!” she called. She started after the shopkeeper but swooned. The marshal caught her in his arms and held her steady.

“Miss Higgins, are you all right? Are you hurt?”

Frustrated at her inability to rush to the boy’s defense, she buried her face against his vest. “If he hurts that boy, I’ll—”

“Don’t worry about Fairbanks,” Redd said. “He yells a lot, but he wouldn’t hurt a flea.”

“Redd’s right.” The marshal cupped her chin and tilted her head upward so he could see her face. His eyes were soft with tender concern. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

Her mouth went dry. It had been a long time since anyone worried about her. “I’m fine,” she managed, though her heart beat so fast she could hardly breathe.

She allowed herself the luxury of relaxing in his arms a moment longer before pulling away. Lifting her hand to the back of her head, she felt a small lump. “Ouch.”

“Come on, sit down.” His arm encircling her waist, he led her to the boardwalk steps. “There you go.” He dropped down beside her. “After you’ve rested awhile I’ll take you to see Doc Myers.”

“Is that a direct order?” she asked, trying to make light of her mishap.

His gaze locked with hers. “It wouldn’t hurt to have the doc check you out,” he amended.

“Want me to go and fetch him?” Redd asked.

“Thank you, Redd, but that won’t be necessary.” She moved her legs and arms. “See? Nothing’s broken. I’m sure the doctor has more pressing matters to attend to.”

Rhett frowned. “You could have a concussion.”

“I’m fine. Really I am.”

Redd looked down the street and suddenly turned white. “If I’m not needed here, I just remembered today’s the day I make fresh coffee.”

Before Jenny could thank him for his concern, he took off running. He barely made his escape before Miss Erma Hogg’s buckboard roared down Main and pulled in front of the bank.

Rhett laughed. “Perhaps you could give Miss Hogg some pointers on how to catch her man.”

“I could use some pointers myself,” she said. She thought her plan to travel to Rocky Creek infallible. Two pretty young women, a town full of eligible men. What could be simpler? Or at least it seemed so at first. But nothing was working out the way she hoped.

He studied her. Something passed between them, a flare of light perhaps. A sudden flame. A physical awareness. Whatever it was, it caught her off guard. A flood of warmth rushed through her body.

“Would you at least allow me to walk you back to the hotel?” he asked.

Before she could reply, Mr. Fairbanks returned, broom in hand. He was breathing hard and sweat beaded his forehead. “I’m telling you that boy will be the death of me yet.”

Rhett stood, and the moment, if there had been a moment, was gone.

“What did he do this time?”

“Stole cheese and beef jerky, he did. Right from under my very nose.”

Rhett’s face grew somber. “I’ll take care of it.”

Mr. Fairbanks scoffed. “That’s what you said last time, Marshal.”

“The boy’s twelve. What do you want me to do? Put him in jail? You know his situation.”

Fairbanks spat out a stream of tobacco juice. “I don’t care about no situation. Scooter Maxwell is a thief. And I expect you to do something ’bout it.”

Grimacing in disgust, Fairbanks stormed into his store. The bells jingled loudly in the wake of the slamming door. A pickax on display fell over and Rhett stood it upright.

Jenny rose and brushed off her skirt. “Cheese and beef jerky hardly seems like something a boy his age would steal.” A twelve-year-old would be more likely to steal sweets or maybe even something off-limits such as alcohol or tobacco. She glanced at him sideways. “Unless he’s hungry.”

“His father’s a drunk.” A muscle quivered at his jaw. “He probably took the food to feed himself and his younger brother.”

She stared at him in dismay. “You aren’t going to punish him, are you?”

“What he did was wrong,” he said.

Anger flared inside her. Her father died during tough economic times. Haswell families barely had enough to feed their own, let alone three orphans. Rocky Creek was nowhere near as fiscally sound as the
Lone Star Tribune
indicated, but neither did anyone look like they were doing without.

“What is wrong with this town?” she cried. “The boy is hungry and all you can think about is punishing him!”

“It’s my job to maintain law and order,” he said.

“And what about your job as a human being!”

He drew back as if she’d physically attacked him. “I told him that when things got bad, to come to me for help.”

“He won’t ask for help,” she said.

The marshal tilted his head slightly and she could see him struggling to understand. “Why not?”

She bit her lip, not knowing how much or how little to say. After her papa died, her maternal grandfather offered to help her and her sisters, but she turned him down. He thought her father a ne’er-do-well and blamed him for his daughter’s death. Partly out of pride but mostly to protect her dear papa, she told everyone that he’d left them financially secure. Not only was it an out-and-out lie, it was the worst mistake she ever made, and she paid dearly for it. Was still paying for it.

Her anger spent, she drew a deep breath. “He doesn’t want anyone to know how bad things are.” She gave him a beseeching look. “He’s protecting his father. It’s what children do.”

His face clouded in emotion. He shook his head as if chasing away whatever feelings had momentarily overcome him.

“Are you sure you can get back to the hotel okay?”

The back of her head still hurt but otherwise she felt fine. “Quite sure.”

He studied her with cool regard. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I need to ride out to the Maxwell place.” He hesitated. “I’m glad you weren’t seriously hurt. Take care of yourself.”