“I’ll drive,” Olivia said, walking around to Rachel’s side of the buggy.
Her chin thrust out, Rachel frowned. “You will not.”
“If I don’t drive, I don’t go.”
Rachel dismissed that. “We’re going to be late.”
“And that’s why I want the reins.”
Olivia loved Rachel to pieces, but driving with her was akin to taking one’s life in one’s hand; she drove like a madwoman, over hills, through trees. And she drove fast, so fast she often had spills. Although she always escaped unscathed, her passengers emerged from the wrecks with bumps, bruises, and, in Olivia’s case, a broken wrist. The only person in town willing to ride with Rachel was her housemate, Daisy, who always rose to Rachel’s defense by declaring, “You should have driven with her when we were young. She’s much more careful now.”
Olivia begged to disagree. Olivia’s introduction to Rachel and her driving had come only three days after Olivia’s arrival in Henry Adams. She made the mistake of riding with Rachel out to the Jeffersons’ home. The ride had been a terrifying dash across the countryside that made Olivia fear for her life—and rightly so, because a few seconds later, the wheels hit a large rock hidden in the tall grass, the buggy careened out of control, and Olivia had been thrown free. Dr. Johnson declared her lucky to have escaped with only a broken wrist.
Everyone knew that Rachel had the best racing horseflesh in the county and that she loved letting the animals run all out. Olivia loved a fast horse as much as the next woman, and maybe the younger Rachel had the skill to control such wild riding. But she’d celebrated her seventy-fifth birthday a few months ago, and everyone in town, including Olivia, was terrified she’d kill herself or her passengers during one of her tears across the plains. “Move over, Rachel.”
Rachel opened her mouth to argue but then closed it. Sullen, she moved over and declared tightly, “The only reason I’m conceding is because I want that nasty little man to lose, and you’re our only shot.”
Olivia picked up the reins. Smiling, she said, “And I love you too, Miss Rachel.” She slapped down the reins and headed the two-horse team toward the outskirts of town.
Olivia was surprised to see all the buggies and buckboards parked in the Jeffersons’ front yard. She turned to the Two Spinsters. “What am I supposed to do when we get inside? Am I giving a speech?”
Rachel, who was now speaking to her again, offered, “We’re going to discuss some strategies. You’ll be speaking this afternoon, though.”
Amused by the fire and determination of the Spinsters, all Olivia could do was shake her head. She assumed she’d find out soon enough what these two had in store, but for now, Olivia parked the buggy and followed them up to the house.
The Jefferson parlor was filled with dozens of valley women—women Olivia did committee work with, women with children in her Sunday school class and in the junior choir. There were ladies who were regular customers at her shop, and some women Olivia didn’t even know, but when she entered the room, they all began to applaud enthusiastically.
The wave of support flowed over and through Olivia with such force that she was standing in Cara Lee’s parlor with tears glistening in her eyes. She didn’t know what to say or do in the face of their welcome. “Thank you,” finally came out in a whisper.
The applause continued until Rachel said sharply, “All right. That’s enough sentiment, let’s get to work.”
Everyone laughed, and the first meeting of the Committee to Elect Olivia for Mayor began.
They spent the balance of the morning making ribbon roses. They were little more than twists of fabric, neither fancy nor elaborate, but they would serve as her campaign’s medalets, usually coin-sized pieces of metal that bore the face of the candidate upon it and were used in both national and local elections. Olivia’s supporters had no money for proper medalets, and even if funds had been available, the election was a short six days away. So the roses, Cara Lee’s suggestion, would be used instead. The plan was for Olivia’s supporters to wear them on their dresses and to give out the fabric roses to others planning to vote for her. Olivia thought the idea a very clever one and promised to donate all the leftover ribbon in her shop to the cause.
Olivia and the Spinsters left the Jefferson home around noon and spent the rest of the day going to as many homes as the day could hold asking for votes. She had no idea how or when the Spinsters had had the time to arrange the many stops on the schedule, but Olivia went along without complaint, glad they were on her side.
By the time Olivia and the Spinsters returned home it was evening, and Olivia was as tired as she was hoarse. She’d talked to farm families and families that raised cattle. She’d talked to the wives whose husbands worked in town and women raising children alone. Early evening found her at Sophie’s hotel, where the Henry Adams Ladies Historical Society hosted a small supper for her and the members. Everyone in attendance had on an Olivia Rose, as they were being called, and at the sight of the support, Olivia beamed both inside and out.
So now, after giving Daisy and Rachel a kiss on the cheek for their help and a wave good-bye, Olivia walked into her quiet house and wanted nothing more than to bathe, then sit on her back porch for a few moments before heading to bed.
She was too tired to pump enough water to fill her old claw-footed tub, so she settled for filling the small hip tub instead. The white tin tub was only large enough to stand in, and the bather washed and rinsed by stooping down to access the water. After she was done in the tub, Olivia dried herself and slipped into a clean cotton gown. She poured herself a tumbler of lemonade, stepped outside onto the dark porch, and sat in the old rocker.
It was another hot, sticky night. Although bathing had refreshed her, the humidity was still oppressive. The weather had been drought dry for weeks, and the local farmers were praying for rain. Olivia prayed, too, hoping a good storm would usher in cooler temperatures and drier air.
She took a sip of her lemonade and wondered if the weather was this warm back home in Chicago, prompting thoughts of her mother. Olivia missed her mother dearly. The letter Olivia had written to her on Saturday had been posted today. As mothers were prone to do, Eunice Sterling often wrote Olivia, telling her how worried she was about her only child. Olivia hoped that her own weekly correspondence helped allay some of Eunice’s parental fears. Ten months had passed since her midnight flight from home. She assumed that Horatio Butler, her father’s hand-picked husband, had moved on and was preying on some other woman’s wallet by now. Her heart went out to the woman, whoever she might be.
Olivia sat for a few moments longer, then stood to go back in the house. When Neil July walked out of the night like a gun-wearing specter, she closed her eyes against the furious rush of her blood. I can’t allow this to happen again, she voiced inwardly; no matter his breathtaking presence and fiery kisses, she hadn’t been raised to tryst with an outlaw in the dark. “Mr. July.”
Neil caught the cool tone in her voice, but he didn’t let it deter him. “Evenin’, ma’am.”
“You can’t come around here anymore.”
Neil studied her for a moment. “Why? I mean besides my being an outlaw and you a beautiful woman?”
Olivia told herself she wasn’t affected by his low tone, but it was a lie. “Truthfully?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve no experience…at this.”
He wondered how she’d react if he carried her away. Everything about her drew him so strongly that he could hardly stand still. “I know you don’t.”
She continued in a voice she wished were firmer in tone, “And, I’m sure you’re more accustomed to women who are.”
He didn’t lie. “I am.”
Her words came out a whisper. “I’m not a loose woman, Mr. July.”
Neil felt the sincerity in her words. “Never thought you were,” he replied quietly.
“Then you understand why this can’t go any farther.”
“I do,” he
acknowledged, “but you’re a fascinating woman, Olivia, and I enjoy talking to you as much as I do kissing you. So if that’s the problem—I promise not to kiss you again unless you ask me to.”
The richness of his voice set Olivia’s heart pounding. Why did he sound as if he were challenging her? Did he know how his kisses still echoed within her? “That was not the response I was seeking.”
“No?” he asked softly.
Olivia imagined that very few women sent him on his way. “No. I expected you to say you’d bow to my wishes.”
“I am bowing. I haven’t attempted to kiss you yet, have I?”
In spite of her determination not to be moved, the question awakened her senses, and the heat in her blood began rising again. “This isn’t a game we’re playing, Mr. July.”
“Sure it is, darlin’. Men and women have been playing at this since the Creator placed us on earth.”
“Well I prefer not to.”
“That’s not what your kiss said the other night.”
Olivia had to look away. She didn’t need to be reminded how overwhelming those moments had been, or that deep inside herself lay a woman who wanted more; more than the sensible side of Olivia would ever admit. “I thought you’d be in Indian Territory by now.”
Neil noted that she’d changed the subject, but he didn’t call her on it. “Decided to stick around. Enjoying the scenery.”
Olivia had no trouble interpreting the true meaning of the words or feeling the intensity of his gaze. “You should go before you’re seen. You don’t want Sheriff Jefferson to know you’re here.”
“No, I don’t, so how about I sit on the porch and we talk awhile? I’ve already promised not to kiss you.”
“Do you really keep the promises you make to women?”
“Depends on the woman.” He then added, “You, I would never lie to.”
Olivia decided he was the most seductive man she’d ever met. Add to that dashing, charming, with an air of danger around him, and it summed up a man she had no business being around. In truth, she wouldn’t mind sitting and talking; Neil July undoubtedly lived an exciting life, and she admitted to being curious about it and him as well, but good women weren’t supposed to entertain men whose line of work resulted in Wanted posters. “Mr. July—”
“Name’s Neil. It’s real easy to say. Only one syllable. Try it.”
She smiled before she could snatch it back. Exasperated and amused, she said, “Neil.”
“Very good. Wasn’t hard at all, was it?”
“No.”
“Now, you were saying?”
“I was saying, I’m running for mayor, and if anyone sees us out here, I won’t get any votes?”
He walked closer to the porch. “Did you say mayor?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He scanned her in her nightgown. “I’m impressed.”
She backed up a step, hoping the shadows would hide her nightgown and act as a buffer between her and the power flowing around him like a lightning rod. “I doubt I’ll win.”
“Why not?” Neil fought down the urge to step up onto the porch and pull her into his arms so he could reacquaint himself with her scents and the taste of her lips.
“My opponent’s purse is much heavier than mine, and he won’t hesitate to spend it to promote himself and his views.”
“I can get you some gold.”
She laughed. “No thank you. The last thing I need is to have Armstead Malloy find out I’m campaigning with stolen gold.”
“Armstead Malloy, the man from the coach?”
“Yes.”
“He still after you to marry him?”
Olivia thought back on the pickle encounter. “No. Not anymore. In fact, I am now the lowest of the low in his eyes.”
“What changed his mind?”
“You, and a barrel of pickles.”
She sensed Neil’s puzzlement, so she took a moment to explain to him all that had occurred the day in the store.
Neil was stunned. “He really said that to you? To your face? And you didn’t shoot him?”
She chuckled. “It did cross my mind, but unlike you, seamstresses don’t carry firearms on their persons.”
“Maybe you should.” Neil thought back on her story and said, “That little toad. Think I’ll pay him a visit. Where’s he live?”
“Behind the store, but that isn’t necessary. The pickles satisfied me.”
“Doesn’t satisfy me, though.”
“Please, let it be. I don’t want anyone hurt.”
“I’m not going to hurt him, I promise.”
“It will only cause more talk.”
“Don’t worry. I have a fine imagination, Olivia. I’ll think of something that won’t point to you or to me as the culprit.”
“But—”
“It’s okay. I haven’t had fun in weeks.”
Olivia couldn’t imagine what kind of fun he had in mind and decided she might be better off not knowing.
Neil knew it was time for him to leave her, and he sighed inwardly because of it. “Guess I should get going, Lady Mayor.”
Olivia was amused by the title, but she was just as relieved by his imminent departure as she was disappointed by it. “I’m not the mayor yet.”
“You will be. Only a horse’s ass would vote for a toad like Malloy.”
She liked his wit. His quick mind was yet another quality that didn’t fit the mold of what an outlaw was supposed to be. “Are you off to your hole in the wall now?”
“No. Plan to stick around a while. Town’s got a seamstress I’m hoping to see again.”
“You’re going to wind up in the town jail.”
“Not real partial to jails, so I do my best to avoid them.”
“Then you should avoid walking on the wrong side of the law.”
He smiled. “Well, she’s preaching at me again. Guess it’s time to go.”
Olivia smiled, then said softly, “Keep yourself safe.”
Neil wanted to kiss her and slide a finger over the soft brown skin of her cheek, but he’d made her a promise. “I will.”
“Goodnight, Neil.”
He was thrilled to hear his name on her lips. “Night, Miss Olivia.”
And then he was gone.
Neil was glad Henry Adams was such a small town, because at this late hour most of the good citizens were asleep and unaware that he was skulking around. As he got to the main street, he peered around the corner of the undertaker’s place to make sure Jefferson or his deputies weren’t making their rounds; not that such vigilance was needed in a town that lacked saloons and any other place that fed vice, but with Chase around, Neil wasn’t taking any chances on being seen.
Staying in the shadows as much as he could, Neil made his way past the darkened shops. When he spotted Malloy’s mercantile, he quickly crossed the street and slipped around back. There was a small house behind the store. He assumed it to be the place Olivia had spoken of. Malloy had accused her of allowing Neil to take liberties—well, Neil planned on taking some liberties of his own; liberties Malloy would not soon forget.
Picking the lock on the store’s back door took Neil only a few moments. He then slipped inside. It was as dark as Hades and he really needed a light, but he decided it would be safer to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. It wasn’t easy, though. His unlit journey through the store resulted in his bumping into items, including a barrel of something that would have fallen over and probably wakened half the town had he not righted it in the nick of time. His hand said the contents were potatoes. He was glad they hadn’t hit the floor, because more than likely he would have turned his ankle stepping on them in the dark.
Deciding he did need a light after all, he pulled a match out of his shirt pocket, struck it on his belt buckle, and held it high. He took a quick look around. Seeing what he needed, he smiled. He shook out the match and silently thanked Malloy for stocking the items so close to where Neil now stood.
Neil left
the store carrying a flour sack, two bandanas, and a length of rope. Senses alert, he crossed the short, dark distance to Malloy’s house. Getting inside Malloy’s house was a snap. For all of Malloy’s money, he, like most of the people in the area, had windows that had no screening, so Neil simply hoisted himself in and looked around.
He didn’t need a match to find his way to Malloy’s bedroom. The man was snoring like a buffalo, so Neil followed his ears. The Lakota called confronting your enemy in this manner counting coup. Neil planned on counting big coup. As he’d told Olivia, he hadn’t had any fun in a while and he was looking forward to this.
Malloy had on a union suit. Because of the heat, he had no covers over him. He was lying on his side and snoring loud enough to be heard in Topeka. Neil didn’t waste any time. He used one bandana to blindfold Malloy, who didn’t awaken until the knot was tightened. By then the second bandana was in his mouth. Gagged and blindfolded, Malloy was roughly tossed onto his stomach; Neil stuck a knee in his back to keep him down and quickly tied his hands and then his feet. Malloy was tied like a Texas steer and squealing like a scared pig. A pleased Neil backed up and savored his work. It had taken him less than ten seconds to get the job done. He wished he’d had Shafts with him so they could have timed it all. Neil swore he’d broken the time record with this one.
Through it all, Neil hadn’t made a sound. Malloy had no idea what was going on, and Neil planned to keep it that way, for now. Malloy was struggling mightily and yelling behind the gag, but Neil wasn’t real concerned. Still smiling, he picked up the tied-up toad and carried him outside.
Chapter 5
Olivia awakened the next morning just as dawn was pinkening the sky. The house was cool, and as she lay in bed listening to the quietness surrounding her, her mind replayed last night’s encounter with Neil July. The logical parts of herself were proud of her decision—sending him away had been proper; nothing but scandal would result from encouraging further visits. However, other parts of herself were disappointed by the thought of never seeing him again. She supposed every good woman had a man in her life when society deemed unsuitable, a man who offered temptation, excitement, and the opportunity to taste things forbidden. Hers was named Neil July, and forgetting him and his kisses was going to take a long time.
Something Like Love Page 8
