She glared at his slight to her brother, ignoring the rich timbre of his voice that almost made her shiver. She forgot her response.
He chuckled and dismissively shook his head. “I do question your intellect, though, by you calling him a baby. He’s a man, and he should start acting like one. In turn, people will begin treating him accordingly, not traipse after him to fix his messes. He has two feet. Let him stand on them.”
“He already does.” Sometimes. When he concentrates on what he should be doing.
The tall, dark, and a bit intimidating McCutcheon just stared.
“Sounded different today. Like I told the judge,” he went on, “Chaim and I have some time here in San Antonio before we head back to Rio Wells.”
Dustin dragged a brief, indifferent gaze up and down her length. “The wagon we brought from the ranch has already returned to Rio Wells, along with the extra men. If you plan on riding with us, get yourself a horse and clothes. Get a mount for your brother as well. I’m not responsible for that. We won’t be waiting for a wagon to keep up. We’ll be traveling light and fast.”
Frowning, he added, “If you’re short on money, you can borrow what you need from me. I wouldn’t want you running out because of an unexpected bump in the road.”
Dustin took a tiny step back as the color of Sidney Calhoun’s face deepened to a profound shade of pink, and her lashes blinked at what he’d said. Seemed she didn’t like his offer.
Maybe he’d gone too far, but he wasn’t ready to completely forget the accusations Jock Calhoun had leveled on the Rim Rock for all these years. For now, to keep the peace, and to make this easier for his own father when the time came, he’d play nice. Try to win her trust. With a tinderbox like her, though, he could tell the task wasn’t going to be easy.
“Those are my exact intentions, as soon as I’m finished here. Outfit myself and acquire two horses.” She laughed, but the expression didn’t travel to her eyes. “A Calhoun taking money from a McCutcheon! That will never happen.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “As a loan.”
“As anything. I’ve plenty of money, thank you very much. I won’t be a millstone around your neck, to be sure, and neither will my brother.”
Millstone? No, she certainly wouldn’t be that. A few other choice descriptions flashed through his mind as he took in her fiery blue eyes and those finely chiseled lips that seemed in desperate need of a kiss. Not that he’d noticed.
She’s right. McCutcheons and Calhouns don’t mix. Period!
He snapped away his gaze, pulled on his hat, and touched the brim with a forefinger.
“I’m glad to hear that, Miss Calhoun. If you’re through berating me, I’ll let you go about your business. You have a lot to accomplish in a short amount of time.”
Six o’clock rolled around all too quickly. Chaim had left an hour ago, intending to walk the gardens in the center of town with Emmeline before they went to a private supper to say their good-byes. Seemed they’d been doing that for days now.
That left Dustin on his own. He had a meeting with a San Antonio rancher they often did business with in the saloon in ten minutes, so he pulled on his boots and headed out the hotel door.
He’d tossed around the idea of sending a note to Miss Calhoun’s room. Invite her to supper. Wouldn’t that be interesting. That had been his thought in the mercantile, before he’d known who she was.
But after seeing the way she’d acted, he was sure she’d turn him down.
His meeting wouldn’t take but a few minutes, and then he’d be faced with another long, lonesome night, pretending to have a good time. Gambling and tossing back whiskey, oh joy. Tonight his twenty-nine years was feeling pretty damn old.
He started down the squeaky stairs, taking note of the men in the lobby. One couldn’t be too complacent in San Antonio if you wanted to stay alive.
At the bottom, he stopped. Did he dare? Miss Calhoun had to eat. If he could win her over, even a little, the ride back to Rio Wells would be more pleasant. An invitation was worth a try, for everyone’s sake.
He strode to the lobby counter and waited for Jim, the clerk, to notice him.
“Mr. McCutcheon, may I help you?” the little dandy said, hurrying over. He fingered his perfectly knotted bowtie and smiled. The room was warm, and the clerk’s forehead had a sheen that looked almost uncomfortable.
“I hope so, Jim. I’d like to send a note to Miss Calhoun. Do you know if she’s in?”
The fellow turned and took a quick accounting of the door keys in their corresponding slots as Dustin followed his gaze. Two keys present. Rooms one and five.
“She seems to still be out, Mr. McCutcheon, but you can leave a note in her niche, if you’d like. I’ll be sure she gets it as soon as she returns.”
Dustin pushed away his disappointment. Maybe she wasn’t alone here in San Antonio. She’d never said one way or the other, but then, he hadn’t asked. He was all for being friendly, but he didn’t want to make a fool of himself either, especially with the history they already shared.
“Mr. McCutcheon?” Jim shifted his gaze to the clock on the wall and then back at him.
No one ever died of embarrassment. Jock Calhoun was the one keeping the animosity between the two ranches going. As much as he didn’t like the allegations the rancher had made over the years, Dustin recognized that Sidney hadn’t been the instigator. By the looks of her, she’d only been a small child when the trouble had started.
A man waiting behind Dustin cleared his throat, forcing Dustin to decide quickly.
“Yes, I’ll leave a note.”
The clerk presented a pencil and paper.
Dustin stepped aside, letting the impatient man come forward. He gazed at the blank sheet, his mind suddenly empty. One didn’t rush note writing. If they did, they’d be sorry. This was important work.
Stemming his impulse to crumple the paper, he sighed.
What would his pa think of him attempting to make peace of sorts between the two bloodlines? Surely, he wouldn’t be happy. As much aggravation as his father and the ranch had endured over the years from Jock Calhoun, his father had only shared the bare minimum with the family. Just common knowledge through the grapevine.
Not as if he had much of a choice. They were stuck with Noah. Being civil to his sister couldn’t hurt, and in his way of thinking, might actually make things better. He wasn’t inviting old man Calhoun to supper. And he wasn’t being disloyal to his father or the McCutcheon name.
Placing the pencil to the sheet of paper, Dustin quickly began to write.
Dear Miss Calhoun,
I’m dining tonight at the Longhorn. I’ll be there at seven o’clock. If you’re free, you’re welcome to join me. Perhaps we can discuss Noah and how we should go about his rehabilitation.
Your new friend,
Dustin McCutcheon
There. That wasn’t so difficult. The part about Noah would surely get her attention. He folded the missive several times and motioned to Jim, who was waiting patiently at the other end of the counter, feather duster in hand.
The man’s features brightened when Dustin held up his finished script.
“Very good, Mr. McCutcheon.” He took the note and slipped it into slot number five. “The moment I see her, I shall give her your message. Will there be anything else?”
A glance at the clock said Dustin had half an hour to conclude his business in the saloon and get a table at the Longhorn. The thought pulled the corners of his mouth into a smile.
“No, Jim, that’s all. Thanks for your help.”
“Always my pleasure to assist whenever you’re in town, Mr. McCutcheon. You have a good evening.”
“You do as well.”
Dustin stepped out into the evening air and made for the Bone Yard Saloon.
Chapter Five
Rio Wells, Texas
Lily McCutcheon crossed the floor of her dress shop and pulled the front door wide, loving the soft sound of t
he bells hanging above. A cool morning breeze wafted through, encouraged by the kitchen window she’d opened moments before on the other side of the building.
The dry Texas air soothed her soul, so different from Boston, where the clingy-moist atmosphere made one’s clothes stick to the body no matter the time of day. Here the hard-packed dirt seemed so foreign compared to the lush green lakes of her German homeland.
How she missed her Tante Harriett on days like this. Something was sad about the mourning dove’s call from the church graveyard on the outskirts of town. Or maybe her melancholy stemmed from the fact her shop, Lily’s Lace and More, had flourished in the short time since opening, but her aunt wasn’t alive any longer to enjoy the fruits.
If patronage kept up at this pace, she’d have so many projects, she wouldn’t be able to keep up. Only so many hours were in one day. The success was all due to Tante Harriett insisting on teaching Lily everything she knew. Opening the shop had been their dream—together.
Lily glanced up into the sky, seeing an endless blue slate. Are you watching me, Tante? Are you proud of what we’ve accomplished?
She sighed and turned. Anticipating her husband’s morning visit, Lily fluffed the pillow in the guest chair by the window, then shook out the dressing room curtain to loosen the dust that had accumulated over the past day.
She and John had a standing date each morning at nine. Two hours ago, he’d left their tiny living quarters above her shop to prepare for his day at his medical office next door. Soon, he’d be back for a cup of coffee and a tasty treat she’d whipped up in her itsy-bitsy stove.
“And how are you this morning, Ingrid?” Lily addressed the tall dress form standing in the corner, opposite the dressing room and next to her spools of handmade lace. A gown she’d created as a show piece sample draped regally on the headless dummy.
Lily playfully tapped her chin as if listening to the make-believe woman’s reply. John had surprised her with the large-as-life addition he’d received in trade for his services.
“That’s wonderful to hear. I hope you find your new home agreeable. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable.”
Feeling silly, she went to the cutting table and ran her hand down the five new bolts she’d add to the fabric shelf later today. After which, she’d get to work on the two gowns she was currently creating.
John stepped through the front door and smiled. As usual, the sight of him brought a rush of happiness.
“How are Doc Bixby and Tucker this morning?” she asked, going to the stove for the cinnamon rolls. She kept them in the cooled oven where any flies that might have sneaked in through an open door couldn’t find them.
“Hopeful I’ll bring back leftovers.” He put his nose in the air and gave a good sniff. “Smells awfully good, honey.”
“Of course I made enough for them. Not doing so would be mean.”
With a knife, Lily traced around the crispy brown edges and then set the pastry on a plate. She drizzled a sugar glaze over the top, enough that white gooey stripes overflowed down the sides. Next, she poured a cup of coffee and brought both over to the table where John had seated himself, his chin in his fist as he stared out the window.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she said, smiling when his eyes went wide at the pastry before him. “You’re thinking about more than that cinnamon roll. Where are you this morning?”
“Here, with you.”
“No, you’re not. I know what those lines on your forehead mean. What are you worried about?” She took the chair beside him, always thankful that they’d found each other.
He chuckled and playfully touched the tip of her nose. “Aren’t you having one?”
She smiled; he couldn’t distract her that easily. “I tested one when they first came out of the oven. If I indulge myself with another, I might start to look like Patsy.”
John leaned forward and found her lips. “Then there would only be more of you to love.” He nuzzled her neck as a sound of appreciation escaped his throat. “Besides, everyone loves that chubby pony at Cradle’s livery. She’s very popular—proving my point nicely.”
Lily laughed and pulled away. “You say that now, but . . .”
Focused back on the pastry, he took a bite and chewed.
“If I got pleasingly plump, then we wouldn’t fit in our tiny apartment above the shop any longer. There’s barely enough room for the both of us, plus the cat. Imagine if I was twice the size I am now.” She gave an exasperated sigh as she shook her head.
John’s eyes widened and he bolted to his feet, almost upsetting his chair. His smile went from ear to ear, and he was all but sputtering.
“A-are you trying to tell me we’re expecting a baby, Lily? Because if that’s true, I’m the happiest man in the world!”
A moment of disappointment tightened her throat. She hadn’t expected him to jump to that conclusion, although now she realized that was exactly how her words sounded. She’d been thinking along those lines herself more often than not these days. They both anticipated the exciting news, when it arrived.
“No, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant at all.”
He took his seat and plucked his napkin off the floor as she tried to explain.
“I thought maybe we should get ready for when that happy day comes. Between the two of us upstairs, things are tight. I can’t imagine soothing a crying baby with no place to walk him or her, besides navigating the narrow staircase.”
John stopped eating and gave her a long look. He picked up her hand and brought the tips of her fingers to his warm lips, his gaze searching hers.
“Are you unhappy upstairs, my love? Truly, be honest now. We promised never to keep secrets from each other.”
She looked away, unable to stare into his emerald eyes a moment longer and not blurt her idea to him. She’d been dreaming about this ever since Tante Harriett passed away last July. Her aunt had helped her come to America, and now she wanted to do the same for her sister.
“No, I’m not unhappy at all. I could never be unhappy when I’m with you.” She laid her palm on his cheek for a moment, and then let it fall away. “I’ve been thinking about how cute the apartment is, much more suitable for a single girl—er, woman—than an old married couple like us.”
John took another bite, but he lifted his eyebrows and laughed. “Now I really know you’re up to something,” he said while chewing. “We’re hardly an old married couple, Lily. We’re practically still on our honeymoon, so to speak.”
Her face heated, and she had to glance away. No truer words were ever spoken.
“Go on, spit out your idea before the secret chokes you. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She looked down at his cinnamon roll.
“Lily?”
“I’ve been thinking that perhaps Giselle could come from Germany. She turned seventeen on her last birthday, and wants very much to live here in Rio Wells with us. Make Texas her home. Find her own Western cowboy husband.”
John quickly lowered his fork to his plate, his eyes wide. The smile faded from his lips.
Lily hurried on. “You know the business in the shop has picked up considerably since opening. I’m actually working on two projects at the same time—one even from out of town, with another to start. And I finished a gown just last week. If any of my ladies had wanted a rush for a special occasion, I couldn’t have delivered it. But if Giselle were here working alongside me, we could turn twice the profit.”
She leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly together between them. “I’ve almost paid off my debt to Dr. Bixby. Every time I make a payment, he goes on for an hour about why I no longer need to. Next month, our profits will be free and clear.”
“Lily, I didn’t know you’ve turned into such a businesswoman. Your head seems to be filled with numbers, accounting, profits and loss, as well as fabrics. I thought . . .” He cupped his chin.
“A woman’s mind can only be occupied with s
ugar icing and Venetian Gros Point lace?” She smiled to soften her words.
He lifted a shoulder. “Never that. I just hadn’t known you were dwelling along these lines—paying off the debt, expanding your business, sending for your little sister. I’m surprised, is all.”
“Do you mind? I spend many hours in there.” She glanced into the body of the shop. “Sometimes the days get a little lonely. If Giselle were here, that wouldn’t be the case.”
“I see.” Finished eating, John pushed back his chair and stared. “We don’t want you to be lonely now, do we?”
She shook her head, excited that he seemed open to her idea. “That’s why I’d like to start looking for a larger home. Then Giselle could have the upstairs apartment. I really enjoyed the cozy rooms when I lived there with Tante Harriett.”
His brows fell. “And you don’t enjoy them with me?”
“Of course I do! But the thought of setting up a real household with you, somewhere else, feels even better. Several places here in town are for rent.” She took his hands in hers. “But can we afford it?”
He finished his coffee, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and set the cloth beside his plate. “I see. You want to move.”
“Yes. And send for Giselle. Is that possible, John?”
She pulled her sister’s last letter from the pocket of her skirt and opened the page. She scanned down all the personal items to the place that had almost moved Lily to tears. She cleared her voice and began to read.
“Have you asked your husband yet about my joining you in Texas? I’m so hopeful he’ll say yes. I’ve saved every penny I’ve earned for the past two years from mending and watching Victoria’s twin boys. I have thirty-five marks for my passage fare, and I promise to work off the rest once I arrive. I’ll do exactly as you ask concerning the shop, and will work hard every day. I’ll even work on Sunday, if you need me.”
Lily glanced up and laughed. “She knows I’d never allow her to work on Sunday. She’s being theatrical—that’s Giselle’s way. But you can see how much she has her heart set on coming?”
Texas Lonesome Page 4
