Caving into You (Love in the Old West series Book 1)

by Bess McBride

  He looked down at Hilly, industriously wending her way down the road with one hand clutching at her skirts as if to keep them clear of the dusty walk. She had no hope of that, he feared.

  “So, what are some of these questions you have been waiting to ask me?” Clint asked.

  “Oh gosh, so many!” Hilly said. “Do Nan and John have hot running water? I don’t know how to ask without raising suspicion. I really need a bath! I know they have cold running water, but they only had one tap so I don’t know if they have hot water.”

  “I will ask,” Clint said. “It is a normal question nowadays. I know you don’t believe it, but things are changing rapidly now. Only a few years ago, Tombstone had no running water at all, and now they do.”

  “Well, Clint Woodrow! Where have you been?”

  Clint looked up and froze, wishing he could take Hilly and run the other way. But it was too late. He had taken them on a path away from Allen Street in order to avoid just this sort of meeting.

  Two women approached—both dressed in colorful red silk dresses notable for black lace and low necklines revealing an inordinate amount of exposed bosom. They paused in front of Clint and Hilly, essentially barring the way.

  “It’s been at least six months since we’ve seen you at the saloon, dearie,” Marie, the taller of the two said. “Where did you go? And who’s this?” She looked down at Hilly with a red-lipped smile which did not meet her eyes. Clint was not surprised. The rivalry between these women was unsurpassed, often disintegrating into physical violence.

  “Ladies.” Clint nodded, tipped his hat and attempted to sidestep them—unsuccessfully. He was aware Hilly stared at Marie and Katherine, the shorter women, with rounded eyes.

  “Do not tell me you are courting, Clint!” Katherine said, her German accent strong.

  “Hello,” Hilly said. “I’m Hilly Creighton.” She thrust out her hand, and Clint winced. It just was not done.

  Katherine, with a surprised arch of her blonde eyebrows, took Hilly’s hand in her black-gloved one.

  “Hilly, this is Miss Katherine and Miss Marie,” Clint said. What else could he do but pretend this was normal? Poor Hilly. He should have warned her and not avoided the subject.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Marie stuck out her gloved hand reluctantly, and Hilly shook it.

  “Well, if you ladies will excuse us, we will be on our way,” Clint said firmly with a tip of his hat. He almost manhandled Hilly past the women and resumed walking. A small laugh from one of them did not make him turn around.

  “So, Clint,” Hilly whispered, “they seemed to know you well.”

  Clint took a deep breath. “Not as well as they let on, Hilly.” He really felt he couldn’t say more.

  “I take it they’re prostitutes?” Hilly’s voice held a note which worried him. “Are you telling me that you...?”

  Clint looked over his shoulders, but Marie and Katherine had not gone far enough for him to stop and talk to Hilly. He didn’t want them to see him trying to explain them away. He tried to urge Hilly forward, but like a mule, she dug in her heels, refusing to budge.

  “I think there’s a little bit more about you that I don’t know,” Hilly said, turning to face him. “Do you pay for prostitutes?”

  Clint drew in a sharp breath. “No!” he said in all truth. “No, I have never wished to...ah...use the services of these ladies. Never. But I have spent some time and hard-earned money in a saloon or two on occasion, and the women do come to know a fellow by name.”

  Hilly eyed him narrowly, her brows drawn together as she searched his face. How could he make his face appear honest and forthright? He was telling the truth.

  “Hilly, this subject is not talked about between a man and a woman, and certainly not with respectable ladies. I find it difficult to talk about it with you.” He shook his head vehemently. “But no, I promise you that I have never enjoyed the attentions of a member of the demimonde.”

  Hilly took a step back and tilted her head to study him, as if to decide whether she believed him or not. He tried his best to look honest, however one did that.

  She blinked and could not maintain his steady gaze. She looked down at her feet and then into the street—away from him.

  “I wish I could believe you, Clint. It’s not that I find the idea of prostitution inherently wrong, and you told me it’s legal here, but I honestly don’t want to be with someone who has paid for a prostitute. The idea makes me squeamish.”

  Clint’s held his breath so long he thought his heart must stop. What was she saying?

  “Hilly, how can I convince you that I have never...” He paused, unable to say the words even now when he thought he might lose her. “I understand your sentiments. Most respectable ladies feel as you do, or at least so I am told. I have never actually had a conversation with a lady on the subject. I know that ‘it’ is illegal in your time in most places in the United States, however, it is legal here in what you call the ‘Old West’ in the nineteenth century. People are much more free in your time in regards to the manifestations of physical love, but not so in our time, and these women provide a service to men who could not otherwise even find a woman to court. There is an absence of proper, respectable, single ladies to court out here in Arizona territory.”

  Hilly looked up at him without expression. The pulse pounded in her throat.

  “Is this supposed to convince me that you have never paid for a prostitute, Clint? Because it’s not. I hear what you’re saying in defense of the industry and your time, but...” She paused took a deep breath. “I’d still rather believe that you never bought...” She left the words hanging.

  Clint took her shoulders and turned her to face him squarely.

  “I never have, Hilly. I promise you. It’s not for me either.”

  Hilly met his eyes, and he tried to convey his sincerity to her with a steady gaze, though he was absolutely terrified she would turn and run from him. He watched as she swallowed several times. She looked beyond him and he turned to follow her eyes. The sidewalk was now empty. Marie and Katherine had moved on, no doubt off to work on the next street over.

  “I’m being such a jerk, aren’t I?” she said with a grimace. “I’m sorry. I was just startled and then angry, and then I just had to save face and argue about nothing. It really isn’t for me to judge them or what you may or may not have done in your time.”

  Clint shook his head with relief. But she had not conceded that he spoke truthfully, and he needed her to believe him.

  “Although we met on a lie, and I lied to you every time I spoke to you, I am not lying to you now, Hilly. Please tell me that you believe me. It is important to me that you know I will never lie to you again.”

  Hilly shook her head.

  “I believe that you will never lie to me again, Clint, and I believe that you don’t want to lie to me.”

  “And you believe that I never... With those women.” He nodded in the direction where Marie and Katherine had stood.

  “All right, all right!” Hilly said with a short laugh. “I believe you!”

  Clint dropped his hands and leaned in to kiss Hilly, and while she accepted his kiss, she didn’t respond to it as warmly she had up to now. With a sinking heart, he realized that she didn’t truly believe him.

  “Shall we continue our walk?” Clint asked in a subdued voice.

  “Sure,” Hilly said with a smile that seemed forced.

  Clint, unable to think what else to say or do, tucked her hand into the crook of his arm again, and they walked on, turning up Fourth Street while Clint pointed out various buildings, stores and hotels. He ignored the saloons although their large garish signs over the street were hard to miss. He led Hilly toward Fremont Street and stopped in front of a house that appeared to be for rent according to the sign.

  “This is right about the spot where the Sunset Inn now stands,” Hilly said. The house, a small single-story white-painted structure, was unassuming but appeared well cared for. A wh
ite picket fence enclosed the lot notable only for a single mesquite tree.

  “I was thinking of asking about this house, Hilly. Do you like it?” Clint heard the hesitation in his voice, and he admitted to himself that he half expected Hilly to call the wedding off.

  “It’s very pretty,” Hilly said noncommittally. “I suppose we would have to see the inside.”

  “I can arrange that tomorrow,” Clint said.

  “Don’t you have to work at the mine?”

  “I do if I’m to make any money for us to live on, but I don’t want to delay in arranging our lodgings.”

  Hilly dropped her hand.

  “But we can’t live together until we get married, right? And I suppose you’re going to say I couldn’t move in here by myself, right?”

  Clint felt as if something had gone horribly wrong between them, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

  “No, I would say normally you should not live here by yourself. It really isn’t safe, Hilly. Single women, and there aren’t many of them here—at least not proper ones—normally take up lodgings with a family.”

  “But it wouldn’t be a ‘scandal,’ would it?” Hilly stared at the house with a speculative expression on her face.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Clint gave in. He knew what was coming.

  “Well then, I’d like to live here by myself for a while.”

  “For a while?” Clint repeated in a flat voice. “Until we marry, right?”

  Hilly nodded but she failed to say the words. Clint sighed. He could not force her to change back to the woman who only an hour before had smiled at him with warm, loving eyes. He could only give her what she needed most right now.

  “We’ll see the leasing agent in the morning, and we will have a look inside the house tomorrow. If you like it, I’ll tell him you want to move in as soon as possible.”

  He kept his voice business like, afraid that his voice might give out on him.

  “Thank you, Clint,” Hilly said.

  They returned to Nan and John’s home where Clint said a brief goodnight to Hilly. He kept his hands to himself.

  ****

  The following morning, Clint picked up Hilly, and together they went to the land agent’s office. Mr. Rutherford, a short burly man with a thick mustache who was originally from Ohio, walked over to the house with them, unlocked the door and showed them in.

  “Old widow McIntosh decided to return to Vermont to live with her relatives, so she wants the house rented as soon as possible. The furniture comes with it.”

  Clint allowed Hilly to precede him, and they entered the house to step into a living room. Well-varnished wood lined the walls. A faded Oriental carpet covered the shining wooden floor. Shabby but serviceable furniture filled the room, ranging from a velvet sofa and flower print chairs to cherry wood tables. Long windows covered with lace curtains allowed in plenty of light.

  A kitchen led off from the living room.

  “The stove works. I checked it out myself, and Mrs. McIntosh had a boiler installed for hot and cold running water.” A large porcelain sink dominated one wall. The small dining room adjacent to the kitchen featured a rectangular wooden table covered with a lace tablecloth and chairs for four.

  “And here’s the bedroom. A pretty large room, as you can see.”

  Clint looked at Hilly. He knew the room was small by twenty-first century standards, but he said nothing. Her face was expressionless.

  Brass bedposts supported a bed. A dresser, night stand and wardrobe in cherry wood completed the furniture.

  “Well, what do you think, Mr. Woodrow? Will it do?”

  “If we could discuss the matter privately for a few minutes, Mr. Rutherford?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll be right outside hanging onto my hat in this infernal wind.”

  A wind had come up while they were inside the house.

  “Listen to that!” Hilly said.

  Clint heard rattling of the windowpanes and a whistling sound through the rafters that normally accompanied the wind. This was not unexpected in the buildings of the nineteenth century—especially those of such a dry and windy climate like Tombstone—but Hilly seemed surprised.

  “We can find another place, if you like, Hilly, but I have to warn you I think most houses built in Tombstone in the nineteenth century will rattle when the wind blows. Maybe even those built in the twenty-first century. You know the wind blows quite frequently.”

  “No, I like it!” Hilly said. “It’s...interesting. I love the sound.” She turned to him. “Please take the house, Clint. But how can you afford it?”

  “I’ll make arrangements, don’t worry about that, Hilly.”

  “I love it!” she said.

  Clint, elated at the bright smile on her face, gladly agreed. He wasn’t at all sure how he was going to ease his mind regarding her living in the house alone for the time being, but he knew he would think of something. She wasn’t going to be alone.

  “We’ll take it, Mr. Rutherford,” he said on exiting the house. Mr. Rutherford, who had been hanging on to his hat, and watching the activity in the street, turned and grinned.

  “Excellent!” he said. “I’ll have the papers drawn up for the lease.” He returned to the house to lock it. Hilly lingered to admire the outside of the house, and Clint waited for Mr. Rutherford to leave before speaking.

  “Hilly, I feel like things between us are uncertain. If Mr. Rutherford were to ask me whose name to put the house in, I wouldn’t know what to tell him. Two days ago, I would have said mine. But today, I don’t know. Heck, I don’t even know if I should apply for a marriage license at the moment.” Clint’s voice dropped to a husky mutter on the last few words. He almost hoped Hilly hadn’t heard his last comment. Because if she had, she might say something he didn’t want to hear.

  Hilly turned to look at him, reluctantly he thought. He held his breath, ignoring the gnawing ache that grew in his chest.

  “I don’t know, Clint,” she said in a quiet voice. Her eyes flickered away from his, and she looked toward the street. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You can’t even look at me,” Clint said in a hoarse voice. “Do I repulse you?”

  Hilly swung her head toward him. “Oh, no, Clint! No! You’re still the most handsome man I’ve ever met. No, that isn’t it at all!”

  “Then what is it? How can I fix this?” he asked quietly. He loved her flattering words but they didn’t seem to change her troubled expression.

  Hilly turned to look at the house. She chewed on her lip and turned back to face him. His heart dropped to his feet.

  “Look, maybe you shouldn’t lease the house after all. Maybe I should just stay at the Dorns’ house until...” She paused and looked down at the hem of her skirt.

  “Until I figure out how I feel.”

  Clint felt as if a horse had kicked him in the chest.

  “I understand,” he said. He overcame his inclination to grovel, to plead and beg. He had no right. “I think you would be safer at Nan’s house, but it is your choice. Only a few minutes ago, you wanted me to lease the house. I’m happy to do it.”

  Hilly turned to look at the house again with a wistful expression. She looked back at him and shook her head.

  “No, I’ll stay at Nan’s. It’s not right to ask you to rent a house for me when...” Again, she hesitated.

  “When?” Clint wondered why he tormented himself by asking.

  “When I can’t pay you back.”

  Clint could have laughed with relief, if he could have laughed at all.

  “Don’t worry about that, Hilly. You are here in my time because I dragged you here. If you want the house, I will rent it. That is the least I can do for bringing you here by accident.”

  A tear slid down the side of Hilly’s face as she looked at the house. She tried to wipe it away surreptitiously but he saw. He wanted to take her in his arms, but he couldn’t. She wouldn’t have welcomed his embrace.

  “It w
asn’t an accident, Clint. You may think so, but I don’t.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Hilly waited anxiously by the front door of the store. Clint had been gone for two full days out to his mine, and she had missed him terribly. He had sent word to her by old George, returning to town on a supply run, that he wanted to take her out riding.

  Nan had insisted she wear the broad-brimmed cowboy-style hat to shade her face from the sun, and she pushed it down further on her head.

  Finally, she saw Clint coming, and her heart started pounding even faster. That she was madly in love with him was never in doubt. But she couldn’t ignore her suspicions that he had lied to her again about the women in red. After all, he’d had a history of lying to her—with good reason, she supposed—but he had done it convincingly. Just as she now lied to Nan and John. She shook her head and pulled open the door to greet Clint.

  “Welcome back,” she said with a smile. She wanted to tell him how much she missed him, but bit the words back.

  Clint took off his hat and leaned down as if to kiss her but then thought better of it. He straightened and smiled, setting a basket down on the floor.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Good morning, Nan.”

  “Morning, Clint,” she said from behind the counter. “Be careful out there. From the look of the clouds, I think it might rain.”

  Clint peered through the windows. “Oh, you are right. I hadn’t noticed. Maybe we should put this off for another time, Hilly.”

  “No!” she squeaked. He turned to her in surprise. “I mean, no, let’s go today. You’re in town already. We can always come back if it starts to rain.”

  “All right, Hilly.”

  “John saddled up Joe for you, Clint, but he wasn’t sure what sort of horse Hilly might like to ride.”

  “Me?” Hilly said. “I have very little experience riding,” she said. She turned to Clint. “I only rode a few stable horses a couple of times when I was a kid.”

  “I don’t think I knew that,” Clint said. “Would you rather take the wagon? I brought it in with the mules.”