Ranse could imagine it, too—she was just spunky enough to carry it off. “I’ve never understood women’s fashion, and that’s a fact. So, tell me what brings you out today.”
“I wondered . . . well, I’m likely overstepping my bounds, and you’ll have to forgive me if I am. But I wondered if you’d ever considered attending one of my balls. You’re a rather dashing young man, if you don’t mind my saying so, and I believe there are plenty of ladies in town who would appreciate the chance to get to know you better.”
Ranse hesitated. He didn’t enjoy balls—they were so pretentious, with everyone parading around in stiff collars and shiny boots, bragging about their latest business endeavors or land schemes and all the ladies fawning at the mention of their travels to Europe. He’d much rather head out for a picnic in the meadow or a ramble in the woods, but not everyone felt that way.
“To be honest, ma’am, I haven’t given any thought to romance in quite some time. I’ve been busy getting resettled here in town, and I haven’t yet seen the need to marry.”
She shook her head, a compassionate look on her face. “You poor thing. You don’t even realize all the wonderful things you’re missing.”
“I’m sure I’m missing out on quite a lot, Mrs. Morgan, and when the right time comes, I’ll take full advantage of it. I’m just not there yet.”
“I do hope you remember that promise. And I also hope you’ll reconsider and attend at least one of my balls—you’re such a tall, striking figure, it would delight me to have you there.”
He touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll consider it.” Maybe. If he happened to come down with the brain fever and lose his memory. And if he was dragged there in a strait jacket. At gunpoint. That’s exactly how much Ranse Hawkins did not want to attend a matchmaker’s ball.
***
“Alice? Have you finished Ronald’s costume yet?”
Alice looked up to see Mr. Westcott, the owner of the Creede Theater, poking his head into her workroom with a worried look on his face. “I’m snipping the last threads now.”
“Good.” Mr. Westcott passed a hand down his face. “I don’t know what possessed me to try such an ambitious project this time around—an opera within a play, with twice the normal cast? I’ve lost my mind, I’m sure of it.”
“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything, but maybe you’re right,” she replied with a grin.
“If I try anything like this again, I’ll count on you to rein me in.”
“With all due respect, I tried to talk you out of it and your wife tried to talk you out of it. You simply wouldn’t budge.”
“Then I suppose I’m too stubborn to be saved from my own folly.” He shook his head. “Thank you for finishing that. How goes the memorizing of the aria?”
“I meant to speak with you about that.” Alice trimmed the final thread and put her scissors back in her basket. “There’s simply no way she can commit it to memory, but I’ve had an idea. The scene takes place in a library—what if we put sections of the aria inside the books on the set, and she walks from one to another and picks them up as though she’s sorting them? Then she can read the words without it being obvious.”
“That’s brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Alice.” He disappeared down the hall, and Alice sighed. She didn’t know what he’d do without her either, and that was part of the problem.
When she’d first come to Creede, she’d been delighted to find work at the theater. Mr. Westcott had reminded her of a lost puppy—he was full of dreams and good intentions, but he wasn’t quite sure how to make them a reality. She stepped in and did what she could to guide him, and as he got his feet under him, she was happy for his success. Catherine, his new wife, had done a great deal to bolster his confidence, and now he was taking on projects that were likely far beyond his reach—but it was good for him, and he always rose to the challenges he gave himself.
The problem was that Alice didn’t want to stay at the theater forever. She dearly loved the people she worked with, and the Westcotts were like family to her, but she wanted something more from her life than being a costume designer. She’d thought about directing a play herself sometime, but after working with the soprano to memorize her lines, she realized that wasn’t for her either. She’d been offered a job by Mrs. Deveraux, who created beautiful ball gowns, but deep in her heart, she would love to have her own dress shop.
She shook her head as she cleaned up the bits of fabric on her table. Her father had always cautioned her about being too ambitious. He felt that people should take what came their way and be grateful for it, but she was tired of waiting for things to come her way. That’s why she left home and came to Creede—there were no jobs in her tiny town, and she wanted to see what else the world might have to offer her. Even more so now, if it wasn’t going to offer her the boy she’d loved nearly her whole life.
She certainly was being morose. She rolled up the pieces of the bodice she needed to sew next and tucked them into her bag. She’d take them back to the boarding house where she lived, sew for a bit, and then she’d treat herself to dinner at Hearth and Home. By morning, she should feel quite a lot more optimistic—she wasn’t about to let herself wallow. “Only pigs wallow,” her mother would say. “Women take a deep breath and push on.”
After letting Mr. Westcott know she’d be working from home the rest of the day, Alice tied on her straw bonnet and picked up her bag, then stepped outside. She felt better already—sometimes the air of the theater felt close and confining, and now under the blue sky, she felt limitless. She tilted back her head and inhaled. There was no place in the world as beautiful as Colorado.
She let herself enjoy the moment, then began her short walk home. She hadn’t gone more than a few dozen yards when she heard a voice. “Well, now. It’s a right nice day for a walk, isn’t it, missy?”
Oh, gracious. She had no desire to deal with any such thing today. She ignored the voice, hoping it wasn’t really addressing her, even though that hope was futile.
“Well, you don’t have to walk so fast, missy, not when I’m tryin’ to get acquainted.”
Alice spun on her heel and faced the man. She’d never seen him in town before. He wore a gray coat that was coming apart at the shoulder seams, and his hair was nearly as ratty. He gave her a grin that was anything but comforting.
“My name is Juke Bonham, and you’re about the prettiest thing I’ve seen in quite a while. What say we step into the Frog Knees there and have ourselves a drink? Get to know each other better.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Bonham, but I don’t drink.” She winced as she heard the words come out of her mouth. Why did she feel the need to apologize for turning him down? Old habits, she supposed—she’d been raised never to cause offense. She swallowed and tried again. “I won’t be joining you.”
“But I’m new in town. I don’t have any friends yet, and a man sure gets lonely sometimes.” He reached out as though to touch her arm, but she stepped to the side. “Aw, come on. One drink.”
“No, Mr. Bonham. Good afternoon.”
She turned, but this time he did grab her arm, and he spun her around to face him. “One drink, missy,” he repeated, his face right in hers. “You’re too good even for that?”
Fury rippled through Alice’s entire being. It was broad daylight, forevermore—was she really being accosted on the streets of Creede in broad daylight? Titus Ross, Catherine’s cousin, often showed up at the theater doors at dusk so the girls who worked there wouldn’t be finding their way home in the dark, but was there really no time of day when a girl could assume herself safe? She wrenched her arm away from his grasp and pulled her scissors from the side of her bag in one quick motion.
“I said no.” She held the point of her scissors under his nose. “Now get away from me.”
His eyes flicked from hers to the scissors, and he took a step back. The words he said next were anything but complimentary, but she didn’t care—
she just wanted him to leave, and he did, stomping across the street and through the doors of the Frog Knees.
Sophia Clay, whose husband owned the livery stable nearby, came running up just then, out of breath. “Are you all right?” she gasped. “I saw what was happening through my upstairs window—I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“I’m fine, Mrs. Clay,” Alice assured her. “He didn’t hurt me.”
Mrs. Clay shook her head. “I can’t believe what some men think they can get away with. May I fix you some tea? Is there anything I can do?”
“You’ve already done marvelously by running to my rescue.”
“Even though it took me forever to get down the stairs.” Mrs. Clay shook her head ruefully. “Promise me you’ll speak to the marshal about this, Miss Givens. I’ll even come with you to his office and provide a witness’s testimony.”
Alice hesitated. Her thought had been to continue home, but Mrs. Clay was right—she should tell the marshal. She wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do, but at least some awareness would be created. “All right,” she said. “Shall we go now?”
“Yes, we should. The closer to the incident, the better, I think.”
They turned and headed back the way Alice had come. Alice thought back over everything that had just happened, her anger bubbling up even more than before. Was the world coming to a point where women would have to hire bodyguards every time they wished to step foot outside? That was simply ridiculous. She wouldn’t stand for such a reality.
She and Mrs. Clay entered the marshal’s office and asked to speak to KC Murray.
“He’s not in at the moment, but I can help you.” The new deputy rose from his desk and motioned to a couple of chairs across from him. Alice was immediately struck by his height. She was rather small for a woman and was used to being shorter than those around her, but he was even taller than most men she knew. “I’m Ranse Hawkins.”
“Sophia Clay, and this is Alice Givens,” Mrs. Clay replied when Alice didn’t speak. She’d better get hold of herself or she’d never be able to tell her story. She swallowed.
“It’s nice to meet you, Deputy,” she managed.
“Please have a seat and tell me what brings you by,” he said, and Alice perched on the edge of her chair, squeezing the handle of her bag for all she was worth.
“I was walking home from my job at the Creede Theater just now and was accosted by a man on the street,” she began. She told the deputy everything that had happened, trying not to let her anger spill over in her voice. “A lady should be able to walk home in broad daylight, Deputy. She shouldn’t have to worry about what unsavory sorts she might attract just going about her business.”
“I agree.” The deputy had been listening carefully, and she noticed that he wrote down the name of her assailant as well as the name of the saloon where the man had disappeared. “Miss Givens, I’ll head over to the Frog Knees and have a chat with Mr. Bonham. You understand that I can’t promise anything for sure, but I’ll do what I can to put the fear in him.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” Alice gave a nod. “I’m sure that will be helpful.”
The deputy leaned back in his chair and appraised her. She felt a little uncomfortable, as though he was seeing through her outer layer and into her soul. “You were hoping I’d do more, Miss Givens.”
“Well, of course, but I understand that your hands are tied. I wasn’t actually harmed, and within the confines of the law . . .” Her voice trailed off as her anger built again. “Why exactly is the law so confined, Deputy? Why do I need to show an injury before real action can be taken? Why isn’t the fact that I was startled, offended, and demeaned enough to garner some attention?”
“I wish I understood it myself, Miss Givens. I have a mother and three sisters, and they’ve often asked me similar questions. If I could, I’d make the world more just. As it is, I’ll speak with Mr. Bonham, and I’ll also escort you home.” He pushed his chair back and rose.
“Oh, I don’t think I need an escort,” Alice protested, but then she fell silent. She did need an escort, and her refusal was just another part of the way she’d been taught—never to put someone out for her own convenience. This was more than convenience—this was her safety, and she deserved to feel safe. “Thank you,” she amended. “I appreciate it.”
The deputy nodded, grabbed his hat, and followed the ladies outside. He walked them to the livery, where Alice thanked Mrs. Clay for everything, and then they continued on toward Alice’s boarding house.
“You say you’ve been in Creede for a couple of years now?” he asked.
“That’s right. It’s a pleasant community—mostly. We’ve had our share of criminal activity from time to time, but it’s been exciting to see the town grow as new industry has come in.”
He glanced at her. “You’re interested in things like the economy?”
“Of course. It makes all the difference in the life of a town.” She raised an eyebrow. “You seem surprised.”
“I am, I suppose. I mentioned having a mother and sisters—we’ve never talked about the economy together. I just assumed it wasn’t a topic ladies cared to discuss.”
“I think it all depends on the lady, and I don’t believe that topics of interest are limited to gender. They vary from person to person.”
“You’re right, and I’m sorry for hastening to conclusions.” He fell silent as they crossed the street. “I have to say, Miss Givens, that I’m rather impressed with the way you handled yourself this afternoon. It took a lot of courage to threaten Mr. Bonham with your scissors as you did.”
“It wasn’t courage so much as it was anger. I’m small of stature, so I’m used to being overlooked and underestimated, and I simply wasn’t about to experience it again.”
“I confess, I didn’t even notice your height until we began walking. Your strength of character made you seem taller than you are.”
That was an unexpected compliment—one she liked very much. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
A moment later, they reached the door of her boarding house, and he touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll go speak with Mr. Bonham right now, and I’ll keep you apprised,” he said. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Mrs. Yates, my landlady, is like a bulldog—no one will get past her.”
The deputy smiled. “Have a good evening, Miss Givens.” He stayed on the sidewalk until she’d gone inside and closed the door.
Mrs. Yates came out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Miss Givens, were you just brought home by a deputy? At this early hour? What on earth happened to you today?”
“May I tell you over dinner? I’d like a moment to sit and be still,” Alice replied.
“Of course, but don’t make me wait any longer than that or I’ll likely implode.”
“All right, Mrs. Yates.” Alice gave the woman a smile, then climbed the stairs to her room. Her original intention had been to sit on the front porch with her sewing and enjoy the sunshine and fresh air, but now she didn’t think she could manage to hold her needle at all. She was suddenly so very weary.
She took off her bonnet and shoes, then lay down on her bed. At first, she could only think about Mr. Bonham and his disgusting words, but then her thoughts shifted toward Ranse Hawkins, a pleasant distraction. She’d noticed him around town a few times—he was impossible to miss, not only because of his height, but because . . . she might as well admit it. He was easily the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He’d made her heart flutter from the first time she’d seen him, but she’d always been taught that she should pay no attention to someone’s outward appearance and focus instead on their heart. That was good advice, but when someone’s outward appearance was that nice to look at, it was easy to forget.
She shook her head, chastising herself. Wasn’t it just that morning she’d been lamenting the loss of her childhood crush? Now she was swooning over a tall deputy with green eyes and a
deep voice as though she’d never seen a man before. It wasn’t good to let her emotions run away with her like this—they were entirely too unpredictable. No, she’d rest for a little while and have some dinner, and then she’d spend a few hours sewing. Concentrating on work would be the best way to put this confusing day behind her, and behind her was exactly where it should be.
Chapter Three
Ranse pushed through the doors of the Frog Knees Saloon, his eyes roving over the tables. About ten more patrons had come in, all of them men, and any one of them could fit the description from Miss Givens. He walked over and leaned on the bar.
“I’m looking for Juke Bonham,” he told the bartender.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Somethin’ wrong?”
“Just point him out to me, please.”
Ranse followed the direction the man pointed and saw a man sitting by himself at a table in the corner, his beer glass nearly empty. “Thank you,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.
The man at the table looked up as Ranse approached. “Well, aren’t you a fancy lawman coming to see me? Have a seat, Deputy. Take a load off.”
“Are you Juke Bonham?”
“Yessir.”
“I need to have a word with you.”
“Like I said, have a seat. Maybe grab a beer.”
“I’d rather step outside.”
Juke shook his head. “Oh, it’s one of those talks, is it? To be honest, I’d rather not go outside. It’s rather nice and cozy in here, don’t you think?”
“If you’d like to have this conversation in front of a room full of people, I’ve no objection.” Ranse hooked his thumb through his belt loop. “Do you want to tell me about the young lady you approached on the sidewalk this afternoon?”
“What do you want to know about her?”
“For starters, why’d you feel you had the right to grab her?”
Juke finished off the last of his beer with a series of gulps, then set his glass down with a thunk. “Did she tell you she threatened me with her scissors? She could have scarred up my face, but you don’t see me whining to the law about it. I’m lettin’ bygones be bygones. That’s how it should be.”
Moonlight With Alice (The Matchmaker's Ball Book 3) Page 2
