by Gold, Ciara
Kaitlin’s Silver Lining is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the workings of the authors’ imaginations and not meant to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
Copyright © 2008 by Jami Bevans
Originally published with Champagne Books
Rereleased 2012
Cover art by Jami Bevans
Produced in USA
One
Denver, Colorado, 1876
“Don’t even think about climbing aboard my rig with that goo clingin’ to your skirts, Missy.”
Kaitlin Kanatzer had one foot lifted toward the trolley step when the conductor’s grumpy voice stopped her progress.
“J—j—just how d—do you pro—propose I get home?” Her teeth clattered in the unseasonably cold autumn air. She didn’t dare put on her coat for fear of ruining it and held it aloft between two sticky fingers.
“I don’t rightly care. I just know you ain’t gonna climb in this rig with molasses covering you from head to toe. The city pays to keep these public wagons clean. ’Sides, it ain’t all that far to your house.”
“You’re a mean-hearted old coot, Martin Shires.”
“A walk in this weather might just make you come to your senses.” He shook his bald head. “It ain’t right you leading those women to picket and carry on against an honest man’s right to drink. No sirree, it just ain’t right.”
He clicked the reins, setting the horse into motion. The trolley lurched. Kaitlin stumbled back, teetered a moment, and landed on her backside on the icy ground. A chorus of laughter sealed her humiliation.
Ignoring the jeers and the pain, she pulled herself up and grimaced at the dirt clinging to her hands. No doubt, the back of her dress was littered with soil and debris. Her coat lay crumpled beside her. So much for trying to keep the garment clean. With as much dignity as she could muster, she lifted the heavy skirts, picked up her coat, and walked as fast as she could toward her home.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to journey far, but the cold wind against her molasses-drenched skin made the walk most unpleasant. By the time she made it home, her bones ached with fatigue, and her anger had simmered to a bitter resentment. Next time she protested for women’s rights, she’d be more prepared.
She yanked the door wide and stepped inside her cozy, two-story house. She took two more steps, closed the door, and froze. What should she do now? “Maggie. Maggie!”
Maggie Mcguire rounded the corner, a handkerchief in one hand and a mug of hot cider in the other. “What in tarnation’s got a hold of you?”
“You must be feeling better to be up and around.”
“Don’t you be changing the subject.” Maggie set down her cup and took Kaitlin’s coat. “Now tell me how you got yourself covered in molasses.”
“Call it a difference of opinion with patrons at the Tip Top Saloon.”
“I see.” Maggie tilted her head. “But were you successful?”
Kaitlin sighed, allowing the warmth of the house to comfort her frozen limbs. “We got their attention, or the men wouldn’t have felt obliged to react as they did. They took special delight in targeting me. The rest of our ladies suffered very little of the men’s revenge. I imagine it was because some of the husbands involved wanted a warm place to sleep tonight.”
“Leave it to you to joke about such a humiliating experience.” Maggie chuckled. “Guess we’d best see about getting you bathed.”
“It’s good to see you smiling again.” Kaitlin studied Maggie’s face for signs of illness. While she still sported bags beneath her eyes, her cheeks blossomed with color. Even her voice sounded stronger. “You must be on the mend.”
“I won’t be doing any jigs, but I feel well enough to help you clean up.” She grimaced. “Lordy, what a mess.”
Kaitlin caught her image in the hall tree mirror and frowned. Maggie hadn’t lied. She looked a fright. Streaks of dark syrup ran down her face and matted her hair. Her favorite dress was ruined. Even her shoes sported dark spots. She stretched out her arms and scrunched her nose. How should she go about cleaning the thick syrup from her body without contaminating every piece of furniture she owned?
“The kitchen.” They both replied in unison then giggled.
“You stay right there while I get a bath ready. No sense you dragging that stuff all through the house. I figure once I get the water ready, you can strip here.”
“Try to hurry, Maggie, but don’t overtax yourself.”
Laughter echoed down the hall. Maggie definitely felt better. A dollop of molasses trailed down Kaitlin’s nose. She crossed her eyes to stare at the offending drop before taking an index finger and scooping it off. Not particularly fond of the taste, she found a clean spot on her skirt and wiped her finger. A draft from the closed door chilled her, and she wrapped sticky arms around her body.
She stood still, not wishing her drenched clothing to come in contact with the walls or furniture. Sounds of Maggie preparing her bath came from the kitchen. She peered around the corner to watch. Maggie made several trips to the pump to fill buckets and dump them into the tub. The water on the stove would take a while to heat before Kaitlin could enjoy her bath.
Meanwhile, her cheek twitched. Molasses itched.
“Well, at least James Latham got a helping of just desserts.” A bitter laugh followed as Kaitlin reflected upon the incident. The look of surprise on that man’s face justified the wearing of his boss’s latest shipment. She’d had the quickness of mind to twirl her heavy skirts, flinging molasses all about the saloon. James just happened to be standing in the way.
More than two years ago she’d left James at the altar. He still held a grudge, a grudge so bitter he’d incited the men to lift that heavy barrel and douse her. Didn’t he know she hurt also? She, too, wept for lost dreams and hopes. He was the one at fault. Not her.
Men! She’d exhausted all hope of ever coexisting among the stubborn gender with mutual trust and admiration. With this in mind, she’d joined the suffragists’ movement with a keen desire to succeed. She’d had her share of setbacks, but she was determined, and the devil take any man who stood in her way.
A resounding knock interrupted her contemplations. She stared at the door, willing the intruder to leave. Under the circumstances, she wanted no company.
“If you’ve come to gloat, you can go away.” She had no intention of opening the door to more ridicule.
Bang! Bang!
The casement rattled from the force of the summons. She wrinkled her nose and drew her eyebrows into a fierce frown. Before she could dismiss the caller again, a fist pounded on the wooden door once more. Whoever stood outside seemed very determined.
Kaitlin’s hand stuck to the handle once she pulled it open. A sucking noise accompanied her efforts to free herself. Standing back, she looked to see who dared interrupt her afternoon. She could do nothing but stare. Had he spoken?
The molasses on her neck stretched as she tilted her head. The man stood at least six feet tall and not an inch less. A lock of wavy blond hair fell across his forehead when he inclined his head. She followed the lock of hair to a crooked nose, the looks of which indicated it had been broken once upon a time. A handlebar mustache framed a set of slightly chapped lips. Rough, calloused hands played with the rim of a well-worn Stetson. Lanky and lean, the man exuded a confident air. His mustache twitched. The smile he gave her caused her insides to tighten. In all her life, she’d never encountered such a fine-looking man.
Her skin warmed. Sh
e’d just been cursing the male population, and here she was mooning over a complete stranger.
“Miss Kanatzer?”
Ah, Beethoven. His voice had the same, rich essence as Beethoven’s Fifth. The deep cadences struck a chord within her, numbing her senses and rendering her momentarily speechless.
“Kaitlin Kanatzer?”
Mooning over a man? Kaitlin did not moon over men. She straightened her shoulders and glared at the unwanted guest.
“Yes. Who wants to know?”
His mustache twitched again, and the wrinkles at the corners of his brown eyes deepened. The man hid a laugh behind a discreet cough. Beside him, a young adolescent giggled outright. Kaitlin’s gaze swung down to the young girl, whose features could have mirrored her own at that age. Kaitlin’s eyes rounded with suspicion.
“Uncle Bryce, look. She’s a brown bear with polka dots.”
Kaitlin folded her arms across her chest. While ogling the newcomer, she’d all but forgotten her predicament. The comment snapped her from her momentary stupor. She shifted her gaze from the child to the man. “What brings you to my door?”
A bemused expression exploded upon his face. Her eyes narrowed. She’d had enough amusement at her expense today. Thank heavens, Maggie chose that moment to walk up behind her.
The man must have sensed her unease. He glanced down at the child. “Perhaps you should say you’re sorry for that remark, Charley.”
“Why? I told the truth, and you told me more than once you don’t like liars.”
A rosy hue spread across his cheeks. The man ducked his head. “I’m truly sorry for her choice of words, ma’am. Sometimes her vocabulary is more colorful than a sunset over the plains of west Texas. Do you think we could come in and jaw for a spell?”
Her face muscles tightened. His assumption that she’d welcome him hit a nerve. “I don’t know you, sir, and as you can plainly see, I’m not presentable for receiving guests.”
He twirled the Stetson. “It’s my turn to apologize for my lack of manners. I’m Bryce Stanton, and this is your niece, Charley, short for Charlene. She’s Bethany’s daughter.”
Bethany’s daughter? Shock rendered her speechless. She stared at the child. Charley could have been Bethany—they looked that much alike. The resemblance thrust Kaitlin into a reservoir of shadowed memories.
Mr. Stanton extended his hand. She gave him a pointed look. She wouldn’t be able to greet him properly without getting his hand dirty. She tried to uncross her arms and to her mortification, they snapped apart, the molasses acting like glue.
“Perhaps you should come in, Mr. Stanton. I’m Maggie McGuire. Miss Kanatzer and I share the house. I think it would be best if you took a seat in the parlor and waited until Miss Kanatzer can clean up a bit.”
Bryce stepped past both women with Charley in tow, his lips curved into a generous smile. He turned back toward Kaitlin once he stood inside. “If you don’t mind me asking, ma’am, what did you get into, anyway?”
“None of your business.” She shut the door behind them more firmly than necessary. He’d caught her off guard, and she didn’t care much for surprises.
Charley jumped at the noise and sidled closer to Bryce. Bryce ignored the girl but stepped closer to Kaitlin and took a whiff. He reached out a finger and wiped a spot off of her cheek.
She reeled from the unexpected gesture. He brought the finger to his lips and smiled. In a motion that stirred her blood more than she’d care to admit, he licked his finger, a slow sampling of the thick, sugary substance.
“Someone mistook you for a pancake?”
His comical expression made her want to laugh. She resisted the urge and sighed. “Very funny. If you must know, the owners tarred and feathered me for preaching against the opening of their new saloon.”
“You’re wearing molasses and oats, not tar and feathers.”
“You’re too astute, Mr. Stanton.” The sarcasm flowed naturally from her lips, a habit she embraced when faced with a frustrating moment. At his look of censure, she relaxed her stance. “Although the men at the Tip Top Saloon don’t agree with my views, they aren’t really cruel. They wanted to make their point without hurting me. Old man Delaney just happened to have a new keg of molasses handy.” And James Latham had been there to spur them all into action. In fact, her ex-fiancé had enjoyed every sticky moment.
“Ah.”
“I doubt you came here to discuss my political inclinations, Mr. Stanton.” Her gaze lit on Charley. Where was Bethany? Why did this man have custody of Bethany’s daughter? “Suppose you enlighten us as to the reason for your visit.”
His smile faltered. “You weren’t expecting us?”
“Why no.”
“I sent a letter. And then, just before setting out from Texas, I sent a telegram.”
Maggie shook her head. “She probably got it. In fact, she probably got both of your missives, but they’re likely sitting in a pile in the parlor. Kaitlin has an aversion to opening mail of any kind, so she lets it stack up until she can’t stand it any longer, and then she spends a day sorting through all of her correspondence.”
Bryce lifted one eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you got my letter, but never opened it?”
Kaitlin had the good sense to look sheepish. She studied the tips of his weathered boots. “I would’ve gotten around to it...eventually.”
“That’s absurd.” His voice rose, giving evidence to his sudden anger. “I don’t know anybody who doesn’t like mail. What if something important came to you?”
Kaitlin looked at Charley. “Obviously something already did.” Her jaw ached from the tight way she’d pressed her teeth together.
For a few minutes, silence claimed their company. Bryce played with the felt hat, his long fingers stroking the rim. Finally, the man’s features softened.
“Is it possible we could go and sit somewhere? I have something I’d like to tell you.”
She was about to answer when Charley caught her eye.
“Don’t touch that.”
Charley snatched her hand from the fragile china pitcher that sat on a small curio shelf. “I just wanted to look at it.”
“Children should not touch things that don’t belong to them.” She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but she’d never been very good with children. She tried to soften her features, but the damage had already been done.
“I’m not a child. I’m almost twelve.” Charley tugged at Mr. Stanton’s jacket. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you? She’d be mean and hateful. Just like momma told me she’d be. I don’t wanna stay here, Uncle Bryce. I won’t.”
Kaitlin’s mouth gaped, and her composure slipped another notch. “Stay here? What does she mean?”
“Please, Miss Kanatzer, can we go somewhere other than the middle of your entryway?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. If I move, I’ll dirty everything in sight.” Why couldn’t he just tell her? Had something happened to Bethany?
“Mr. Stanton, you’ve caught Kaitlin when she’s obviously not at her best. Why don’t you let me help her get washed up? You can wait in the parlor until she’s done. Then you can tell her whatever it is you need to tell her.”
Maggie could always be counted on to be reasonable in the face of adversity. Mr. Stanton appeared unsure. Kaitlin glanced at Charley’s mutinous face. They’d gotten off on a bad foot. Maybe it was best she heard what Mr. Stanton had to say right now.
“I apologize for snapping at you, Charley. I’m not used to being around chil—young ladies. And—you caught me at the worst possible moment.”
Though Charley remained stiff, Bryce smiled. The expression lit his face. When he spoke, the timbre of his voice flowed over her, soothing and seductive. “I think you have every excuse for feeling out of sorts. That coating can’t be comfortable. You must itch something fierce.”
She smiled back, feeling more at ease. “I’d be grateful if you go ahead and divulge the reason for your visit. I confess to a healt
hy dose of curiosity.”
His gaze dropped to the floor. When he lifted his eyes to meet her own, a grim façade had replaced his pleasant demeanor. “It’s with great sorrow I tell you of Bethany’s passin’, ma’am. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.”
“Bethany’s dead?” Mild surprise accompanied her question. She should have suspected as much. Why else would he bring Bethany’s child here? She tried to conjure remorse, but any feelings she’d had toward Bethany had died long ago.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I see.” But in truth, she didn’t. Bethany had been such a free spirit, a dreamer, a roamer. She’d broken their mother’s heart and caused the difficulties Kaitlin now faced with her father.
“I figured to give you the opportunity to meet Charley. Actually, I was hoping...”
“Hoping?”
“Hoping you’d agree to keep Charley for a while.”
Keep Charley? Her eyes swung to Bethany’s girl. Charley’s face caused her heart to constrict. Try as she might, she couldn’t stem the onslaught of memories. With the memories came feelings suppressed until now. Her past collided with the present, and a once confident and secure Kaitlin whimpered with the injustice of it all. Why now? Why had Bethany’s ghost come to haunt her now?
“I...” Looking at Charley, she knew the girl’s pain mirrored her own. The adolescent’s belligerent manner hid a deep hurt. Kaitlin’s heart melted. In that moment, she forgot the bitter history between herself and Bethany. Her feelings toward her deceased sister had nothing to do with Charley.
“Here now.” Before she could answer, Maggie stepped forward. “We have plenty of time to discuss these things after you’ve had a chance to make yourself presentable. Kaitlin, you head for the kitchen. Mr. Stanton, you follow me. I’ll get you and Charley situated in the parlor. You’re welcome to hang your coats here on the hall tree.”
~ * ~
“Thank you, ma’am.” Bryce helped Charley out of her coat. He hung hers first, then his.
“Follow me, Mr. Stanton.” Maggie led them into a cozy parlor situated a few steps down the hall.
