Under the Midnight Sun

by Tracie Peterson

  But to his surprise she wasn’t taking him back. It was possible she was just toying with him—punishing him for what she perceived as his wrongdoing. She’d been lovesick over him since they were children, so what was going on in that smart little mind of hers?

  Tayler had a mind and strength of her own. Always had. But for as much as she had been devoted to him, she was even more devoted to her belief in God and all those pesky rules that religious sorts burdened themselves with.

  When she’d broken off the engagement, she declared she’d had enough of his philandering. Pop berated him to such a degree that Emerson was ready to come home and apologize, beg Tayler’s forgiveness, and then be more discreet. But Pop had other ideas. Send a large bouquet of roses along with a flowery letter of condemnation toward his behavior and his deep regret for having hurt the only woman he truly loved. After that, lie low, put his nose in his books, and let it all die down, fully expecting that she would take him back.

  But it hadn’t worked.

  Had it been a decade or so ago, Tayler would have been made to obey and overlook her almost-husband’s indiscretions. Now women were being empowered by getting the vote. Goodness, but did anyone honestly believe they were capable of valuable decisions? Handsome politicians merely appealed to their easily distracted nature and bam! Those men became senators, congressmen, and even presidents. It had given him the idea of running for office, and once he managed to get his other issues in order, he just might. After all, the Pruitt name got him whatever he wanted.

  Except for Tayler.

  Stubborn girl.

  If he hadn’t had his own calamities to take care of, he would have gone straight to Yellowstone after she ran off for her silly job. But he hadn’t invested the last of his fortune wisely, and it was coming back to haunt him. Apparently, there were plenty of people who wanted to dupe the rich and were good at it. And then there were the gambling debts.

  Forgiveness wasn’t exactly the Mafia’s strong point.

  Another thing he couldn’t let Pop know. So that left Emerson either at his father’s mercy and demands or with the need to come up with a better plan.

  He needed to act fast. The only thing to do would be to bring Tayler home. Marry her and dig himself out with her fortune. Let Mrs. Hale think whatever she wanted. As long as she helped him tie the knot, after that he could use his leverage to get what he wanted as to the businesses.

  Pop could rot for all Emerson cared.

  “Emerson.” Speak of the devil. Pop chose that moment to appear in the library. He stared at Emerson sitting there and scowled. “I thought you would be doing some more to bring the Hales in line. Sitting here hardly seems beneficial.”

  “Yes, well, that is where you are wrong. I’m making travel arrangements. Tayler is playing a game, pure and simple. She’s punishing me for embarrassing her and making her feel less than important.” He smiled and gave a little shrug. “She’s a woman.”

  “Yes, and that demands a bit more of your respect, young man.”

  Emerson let out an exasperated sigh. “Yes, I know that. I’m building her trust, Pop.”

  “Don’t call me Pop. You know I despise it.”

  “Very well—Father.” Time to put out the bait. “I’m also quite concerned for Mrs. Hale.”

  Pop’s brow furrowed. “Why is that?”

  Emerson knew he’d set the hook. Pop and Martin Hale were best friends. He wouldn’t want to hear of Martin’s wife going through difficult times. “She’s not even a full year widowed and that ubiquitous lawyer of hers has been giving her bad advice.”

  The older man gave a curt nod. “What makes you think this?” Father took a seat at one of the library tables and motioned Emerson to join him.

  With reluctance, Emerson left the comfort of his leather wing-backed chair and took one of the wooden seats at the table. “I know because I make it my business to know. I’ve had several conversations with Mrs. Hale, and Dunham is usually close at hand. There are also some things she has shared with me that give me great concern.”

  The older man’s shoulders straightened. “I’d better go see Henrietta straight away.”

  “No. You can’t. I promised I would keep her private matters confidential. As her future son-in-law. She would be devastated and embarrassed if you got involved at this point. I’ve already offered your assistance and she declined.”

  “But you’ll let me know if I need to get involved? Do I have your word?” Worry etched Pop’s face.

  “I promise.”

  Pop stood. “I’m trusting you, Emerson. You’d better not be playing games.”

  “No, sir. Like I said, I’m making travel arrangements.”

  With narrowed eyes, the elder Pruitt assessed him.

  Emerson smiled at his father and tried to look the obedient and changed son.

  “Let me write you out a draft. I want you to bring Tayler back in style and apologize to her profusely. You do whatever it takes to win that girl. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. I promised Martin I’d look out for her. . . .” His voice cracked almost as if the old man was choked up. “I’ll go get the draft.”

  Emerson stood and wanted to pat himself on the back. Now all he had to do was go after the wayward Tayler. But the pursuit could provide a great deal of entertainment. He’d at least have fun bringing her home. Especially if this was going to be his life sentence.

  A smile split his lips as he thought about getting away from the stresses in Denver. This trip to Yellowstone could be just what he needed.

  11

  FRIDAY, MAY 24—DENVER

  Emerson Pruitt sat across from Tayler’s mother in the Hales’ formal receiving parlor. Henrietta Hale was a beautiful woman. She had been refined with age and yet maintained a youthful appearance that could have allowed her to easily pass for a woman ten years her junior.

  “She’s not responded to any of my letters,” she told him. Sipping tea from her Haviland china cup, Mrs. Hale gazed at him over the rim.

  “Yes, well, she’ll respond soon enough to all of our wishes.”

  Mrs. Hale lowered the cup. “And you’re sure your father will wait? I can’t risk losing everything.”

  Emerson smiled. “I assure you, my father is quite busy with other things at this time, and he gave me his word. If Tayler and I marry, then he’ll be content to keep things as they are. His biggest concern is that the families be as committed to one another as they were in the past.”

  “Of course we will remain committed.”

  Emerson couldn’t help bringing up the matter of the will. “And what of Joshua? Is he any wiser to the terms of the will?”

  She paled. “No.”

  “You do realize you hurt him very much by telling him his father didn’t believe him ready to take on such a large responsibility.” Emerson pretended to pick lint off the cuff of his suit coat. “I know how I’d feel if my father treated me in such a way.” No need to tell her that Pop had made clear his lack of confidence in Emerson’s business practices.

  “It was never about hurting Joshua.” Mrs. Hale was clearly uncomfortable with the topic. She lowered her voice. “I would rather we not discuss this matter.”

  “I’m sure you’d prefer that, and I’m certainly not trying to be a cad. I just want to be assured of your assistance.”

  “I already told you I will support the marriage. I am doing all I can to force Tayler to comply.”

  “And I appreciate that.” He stared at her and then raised his eyebrows. “Ah, Mrs. Hale. I believe I understand you now. . . . It’s all about control, isn’t it?”

  The silence stretched as she stared back. Then with a quick move, she stood. “So I don’t want my son running my life. There’s no shame in that. I helped Martin build this empire, and of course I want control. I’ve lived my whole life watching women not have any say. Well, that’s not going to work for me.” She took a deep breath, and an expression Emerson couldn’t decipher washed over her face
. As quickly as she’d stood, Mrs. Hale sat back down. “I’ll hand things over to Joshua in due time. Now, if you will be so kind, I don’t wish to speak any more on the subject, young man.” The look she gave him was final.

  “Well, then. Discussion closed. However, I am hopeful you might assist me in another matter.”

  She looked confused. “What matter?”

  Emerson put on his most charming smile. “All of my funds are tied up at the moment, as I explained. Still, there is an opportunity I have to get in on the ground level of a new promising industry. I need five thousand dollars.”

  Mrs. Hale straightened. “Five thousand?”

  Emerson nodded. “And I need it today. . . . I won’t be able to see you again before I leave to go get Tayler.”

  She took a long drink from her tea as she appeared to consider his request. Emerson knew she didn’t want to part with her money, but she would. She knew she had no choice. Either she did as he asked, or she and Mr. Dunham would end up in jail.

  SATURDAY, MAY 25—CURRY

  Collette Langelier pounded out the dough onto the bread board. What she wouldn’t give to be able to stomp her feet and have a little tantrum right now. But grown women didn’t throw tantrums. Sadly.

  “Pouah!” she huffed as she slammed the dough down one last time. She blew a tendril of hair off her forehead.

  Mrs. Johnson walked up to Collette’s station with her brows raised and hands on her hips. “Exactly what has got you all in a dither this morning?” She pointed to the lump of yeasty dough. “I’m sure the bread doesn’t deserve your wrath.” Her boss leaned in and whispered, “That wasn’t a French curse word, was it? Because I do not allow any such talk in my kitchen.”

  Collette began to giggle and put a flour-covered hand to her face. The back of it hit her nose. “Non, Chef Johnson. It was simply the equivalent to your . . . moan . . . ummm . . .”

  “Ugh?” Chef Daniel supplied as he walked by.

  “Oui! That’s it.” Collette pointed to him and smiled.

  Mrs. Johnson nodded. “Good. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s got you so riled up that you’re pounding my dough to kingdom come?”

  Collette sighed. “You won’t tell anyone?” Keeping her voice low in a bustling kitchen was difficult.

  “Of course not. Who am I going to gossip to? The utensils?”

  “I would like to know how you have managed to gain the attention of two men.”

  Mrs. Johnson frowned. “I haven’t gained all that attention on purpose, and you know it.”

  “But how did you do it?”

  The older woman gave a slow nod. “Oh, I see. You’re interested in someone.”

  Collette felt her cheeks warm. “Oui. And I don’t think he knows I am even here.”

  “Well, if it’s any consolation to you, I haven’t done anything, and I don’t want their attention. But I can give you some advice.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Johnson, s’il vous plaît. Please.”

  “If you really like this someone, you should do what you can to win their affections—make yourself useful to them, but don’t force your interests on them.”

  “I think I understand.” She bobbed her head. “You think that will work?”

  “A man appreciates a woman who goes out of her way trying to help make his life easier. A woman who notices things.” Mrs. Johnson accentuated her point with a wooden spoon raised in the air. Then she went back to the stove.

  “Notices things . . .” Collette murmured to herself. But what could she notice? The man she admired more than anyone was Dr. Reilly. He was quite a bit older than she was, but his blond hair and blue eyes made her melt every time she saw him. She’d kept her feelings under wraps for so long because she was afraid it was just a silly crush. But when they stayed with her for more than a year, she knew it was serious. The problem was, she had no idea how to catch a real man. In her younger years, she’d been an outrageous flirt, but she’d never actually cared for anyone. Now that she cared, she found herself tongue-tied. Which was quite an achievement for her.

  Determination in place, she realized she’d just have to find ways to observe Matthew Reilly and find out how she could help him. Then maybe he would notice her.

  The smooth dough beneath her fingers smelled heavenly, and Collette breathed in deeply. Mrs. Johnson was just as Cassidy said—a big softy, once you got to know her.

  “Mrs. Johnson?” The recognizable voice made Collette freeze in place.

  When did he come into the kitchen? He hadn’t heard anything, had he?

  “I need to make a poultice with these ingredients.” Dr. Reilly held a paper up to the chef. “Would you happen to have any extra available? It’s not things I normally keep on hand.”

  Mrs. Johnson wiped her hands on a towel and glanced over at Collette with a quizzical look. “I certainly do. Let me get them for you.”

  Matthew saw her and gave her a little smile as he walked over to her station. “Miss Langelier, how are you today?”

  She blinked several times and then realized she hadn’t answered. “I’m quite well, Dr. Reilly. And you?”

  “Please call me Matthew.” He rubbed the end of his nose and looked at her. “I’m doing very well, thank you.”

  Silence stretched for a moment as she couldn’t think of one thing to say. She just stared at him.

  He rubbed his nose again, and the right side of his mouth tilted up into a half smile.

  “Here you are, Dr. Reilly.” Mrs. Johnson returned with the ingredients.

  “Thank you, Chef.” He took the packet, gave Collette one last smile, and walked back out of the kitchen.

  Collette watched him walk away, then realized she was still holding the dough in her hands.

  Chef Johnson chuckled. “So he’s the one, is he, now?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Yes, and I couldn’t think of anything to say.” She thumped the dough down again.

  “Well, at least he knows you are here. I noticed that he spoke to you.”

  “Oui. He did.” Oh, but how she wanted so much more. Collette sighed.

  More laughter from her boss. “Well, let’s get back to work.” She leaned in and winked. “But first, you might want to wipe that flour off your nose.”

  WEDNESDAY, MAY 29—YELLOWSTONE

  The train had been adequate transportation for Emerson, but now he wanted to see Tayler for himself and then get some much-needed rest. The train’s berths were not only uncomfortable but too short to accommodate Emerson’s height. A real bed and bath would be his goal once he had Tayler in hand.

  As he walked into the lodge where he had his reservation, Emerson thought about his future. At first, he’d been angry at Pop for his demands, but then he realized it could be much worse. He’d always had great affection for Tayler, and Josh had been like a brother. The solution really could be quite simple. But, of course, Tayler got the wild notion to run away, which amused him. Leave it to Tayler to throw them all off their game. He liked her spirit.

  Maybe that fondness could at least turn into some sort of love. They could be happy together. At least he’d have access to the Hale money, thanks to knowing what Mrs. Hale had done to her son.

  Shrugging his shoulders, he made his way to the front desk.

  “How may I help you, sir?” The young lady behind the desk looked at him over the top of her spectacles. In spite of her eyewear, she was a cute little thing.

  Emerson turned on the charm. “They certainly have hired the prettiest of clerks.”

  The girl blushed and looked at the ledger in front of her.

  “I have a reservation and some business to deal with.”

  “Name?” She opened the register.

  “Emerson Pruitt.”

  “Please sign here.” She turned the book toward him. “Your room is number twenty-one. Up the stairs and down the hall on the right.” She handed him a key.

  “Thank you. Now, might you tell me where I can find Miss Tayler Hale, please?” He tried
not to sound impatient. “Her mother has sent me here on business,” he added, just in case he wanted to pursue something more with the girl at a later time.

  “Miss Hale isn’t here, sir.”

  Infuriating woman. “Do you know when she will be back?”

  “No, sir. But Mr. Cunningham might know.” The lady pointed. “He’s just over there at the fireplace talking to some new lodge workers.”

  “Thank you.” Emerson glanced down at his luggage. “Will you have someone take my bags up?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Of course, sir.”

  Emerson squared his shoulders and walked over to the gray-haired gentleman. The man was dressed neatly in a brown tweed suit. His handlebar mustache was perfectly curled on the ends.

  “If you have further questions, you can find me in my office over by the registration desk.”

  The workers nodded.

  “Now go to your duties.”

  The ladies scattered in different directions.

  “Mr. Cunningham?”

  The man turned toward him with his hands clasped behind his back. He raised his eyebrows. “Yes, how may I help you?”

  “I’m Emerson Pruitt. I’m looking for Miss Tayler Hale.”

  The man looked bored and turned back to the fire. “She’s not here.”

  “Yes, I’ve been told that.” Emerson’s patience was growing thin. “Do you know when she will return?”

  “No, I do not.” The man looked over his shoulder. “And who, pray tell, are you to be asking after her, Mr. Pruitt?”

  “I’m her fiancé.”

  The man didn’t look impressed. “Well, as I said, she isn’t here.”

  “Good heavens, man, don’t you keep track of your employees? Do they simply come and go as they please? What kind of a place are you running here?”

  Cunningham lifted his chin and turned very slowly to Emerson. “I do not appreciate your tone of voice. This is a national park with the finest employees in this great country.”

  He’d offended the man. Great. Now Emerson had to win him back over. “I apologize. I’m just tired and would like to find my fiancée. I’m certain she’s expecting me.”