Lisa Plumley

by The Honor-Bound Gambler

  At her dire tone, Cade gave a sober nod. He probably could do that, it occurred to him. He possessed both persuasiveness and a knack for forging new friendships. He hadn’t thought of that work-avoidance strategy until right now, but if push came to shove and he was stuck in a corner…a bit of harmless, well-meant corruption might do the trick to liven up his workday.

  “I would never do that,” he pledged, tamping down a smile.

  “Don’t entice Mr. McCabe’s customers into a game of dice to help pass the time, either! That would make them like you, but it would not lead to accomplishing a productive day’s work.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Playfully, Cade tipped his hat to her.

  “Don’t swear. Don’t dawdle. Don’t forget to be careful around the blacksmithing fire. Whatever else you do, don’t flirt with the customers, no matter how attractive they are.”

  “But Violet, farmers wanting their plowshares mended are often so appealing.” Musingly, Cade tipped his face to the sky. “To say nothing of the lumbermen needing their axes repaired.”

  “Very funny.” Violet’s eyes sparkled. “But you told me yesterday when we were having breakfast in bed together after our morning’s…reforming session—” she broke off, blushing at the undoubtedly racy memory of that clandestine encounter “—that you haven’t ever held a traditional job before, so—”

  “What I said,” Cade protested mildly, “is that it had been a while since I’d had steady employment. I’m not a layabout! I simply happen to be better at collecting foolish men’s money than earning a regular workingman’s wage. That’s all.”

  “That’s enough.”

  He shrugged. “I can’t help it if I have a gift for gambling.”

  “That’s not all you have a gift for.” With a devotedly take-charge air, Violet straightened his shirt collar. She patted down his freshly ironed vest, then plucked a bit of errant lint from that selfsame garment. Evidently satisfied, she smiled at him. “Also, don’t play faro or blackjack at work.”

  “Right. I’d assumed you’d already covered that with your prohibition on craps. Shall we negotiate roulette next?”

  “I just wanted to be certain you understood.”

  “I would have to be softheaded not to.” Cade kissed her. “Has anyone ever told you you have spoilsport tendencies?”

  “No.” Undaunted, Violet fussed over his hair. She sucked in a fortifying breath. “You’ll be brilliant today. So get going!”

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather linger here?” Cade offered her his most winning smile. “Or maybe a little farther along in the forest? I hear the creek is scenic. I could take you there, standing up. Or maybe against a tree.” He patted the ponderosa pine behind him, then gave Violet a suggestive look. “You wouldn’t even have to remove your skirts. I could just lift them up a bit, slide my hand up your stockings to your garter…”

  Hungrily, Cade demonstrated. Beneath Violet’s full skirts and layers of petticoats, he encountered warm woolen stockings, snugly fastened garters, delicate drawers…then, rewardingly, warm, soft skin. He stroked her thigh, loving the way she felt.

  “All I need is a few inches more, and you’ll be mine,” he encouraged, feeling aflame at the idea of loving her in such an impulsive, almost illicit fashion. He’d envisioned the notion as a distraction from his impending workday, but now that he’d devised it… “We’d have such fun together, Violet. You know we would. I’d make you tremble and moan—I love it when you do that—and you’d make me forget everything…everything except you.”

  Urgently, he kissed her. Their mouths met in a bruising pressure, familiar and demanding and passionate. The only thing Cade needed then was a nod, a smile, a breathy yes, and he’d be unable to stop himself from making love to Violet right where they stood. He cupped her derriere in both palms and dragged her nearer, grinding himself harder against her, mindless now of the blackbirds and the fallen oak leaves and the steely gray sky.

  “Please, Violet,” he urged. “Don’t say no.”

  “I won’t.” She panted, clenching her fists against his shirt. “I can’t.” She shook her head, even as he kissed her neck, her cheek, her jaw…her mouth. “But I can say…later. Later, I promise.” With an obvious effort, Violet pulled away from him. Regretfully, she straightened her skirts. Her mouth looked full and luscious, her hair beginning to fall from its twisted knot. Heedless of her own disarray, she smoothed Cade’s clothes again. “You’re too good a charmer, Cade. You can charm even yourself.”

  He blinked. That sounded like nonsense to him. “So?”

  “So you really need to get to the blacksmith’s shop.” Violet tucked her fingers in his vest pocket. She withdrew his gold Jürgensen timepiece, then squinted at it. “If you don’t go now, you’ll be late. I built in some dallying time—”

  “You accounted for my wanting to seduce you outdoors?”

  “—but that’s almost gone now.” Smartly, Violet tucked his watch in its place, oblivious to his incredulous look. “You don’t want to make a poor impression by being late, do you?”

  “At the moment? Truthfully, I don’t care.”

  “You’ll care later.” She shooed him toward the smithy.

  Reluctantly, Cade nodded. He would care later. He would care if he had to leave town unexpectedly—in pursuit of Percy Whittier, say, since the man was so cagey and unpredictable—and hadn’t had time to find out if there were any bachelor men in Morrow Creek who were good enough for Violet.

  For that reason alone, Cade prepared to leave. He might want to stay with Violet. He might hope they could have a future. But he’d been disappointed too many times to count on that—or to believe that Violet could truly mean what she said when she told him she wanted him, needed him…loved him.

  What Cade needed now was a contingency plan. He meant to get one, for Violet’s sake. He meant to repay his damn bet to Reverend Benson, too, by proving he could perform honest work.

  “All right. I’ll see you tonight.” He kissed Violet again. Their coming together was as tongue-sweet and heady as it always was. “I’ll hold you to that promise of yours, too, about our being alone together…later. You remember that, don’t you?”

  “You’re dawdling with me now,” Violet said knowingly. “On purpose.” She chuckled. “Did you really think that would work?”

  Another shrug—and an answering grin. “It usually does.”

  “Not with me,” Violet alleged with a twinkle in her eyes. Warmly, she hugged him. “I know you far too well to be fooled.”

  For an instant, Cade feared that she did. Unmoving, he held her. Then he realized…being known was nothing to be afraid of. Not unless you were Percy Whittier and deliberately on the run.

  Men had been shot, it was rumored, trying to confront Whittier. Men had been knifed and duped and outfoxed. Cade had chased the man at his own peril all these years—but he’d also come closer, he reckoned, than anyone else had to finding him.

  Now all he needed was to know if Whittier truly was the man Cade thought he was—and if he was, to get some answers from him.

  “It’s bad manners to read my mind, Miss Benson,” Cade told Violet. “You’ll have to quit that pretty soon—or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else I might find you even more irresistible than I already do. Who knows what wicked ideas you’ll spark next?”

  She blushed. “Get going, you rascal. I have records to comb through and lists to make. I can’t dillydally all day.”

  She meant for her search for Tobe’s mother, Cade knew. That was a wild-goose chase he didn’t want to involve himself in. On the verge of telling Violet—again—that the boy had been through enough already, he managed to stop himself. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck!” Cheerily, Violet waved him away.

  When Cade was partway down the path toward the blacksmith’s shop, Violet called out to him again. Inquiringly, he turned.

  “Yes?” He nudged his shoulder toward the thick
ly clustered trees. “Did you change your mind about visiting the forest?”

  Violet’s expression told him she hadn’t. But then she cupped her hands around her mouth and delivered him a statement that was almost as effective as that in brightening his day.

  “Did you really mean,” she asked, “standing up?”

  Helplessly enthralled by her, Cade nodded. He couldn’t help picturing the scene, both of them surrendering to a need that was more powerful than common sense and a desire to stay out of the chilly autumn weather. He did love her. “Indeed I did.”

  “I thought so. I’m intrigued!” Violet chirped. She gave another jovial wave. “Till later, then. Have a nice day!”

  As she turned and headed with her usual vivacity down the path toward the center of town, Cade shook his head. He’d never been more enamored of a woman—or more certain that they probably could not be together for long. Why should Violet love him, the damnably melancholy side of him insisted, when no one else ever had? Why should she stay with him, when everyone else had abandoned him? Clearly there was something wrong with him, Cade knew; something he tried to keep hidden. Inevitably, Violet would discover it—and then she would likely abandon him, too.

  Even so, she deserved to be happy. She hadn’t asked to be drawn into the complications and secrets that made up Cade’s life. If she couldn’t love him—not truly—that wasn’t her fault.

  With those dismal thoughts in mind, Cade strode toward the blacksmith’s shop. There was no time to waste. He only had a few days to assess the men of Morrow Creek and set up a backup plan for Violet’s future happiness—and it all started with meeting Daniel McCabe and learning to swing a hammer.

  *

  Violet was nose deep in a cookery book by the renowned author and home-keeping expert Daisy Walsh, searching for dishes that would be both strengthening and delicious to serve little Tobe, when the boy himself wandered into the kitchen. He wore a knit cap, hand-me-down britches and a shirt liberated from the church’s donation box. He carried a stack of schoolbooks bound by a leather strap. He spied her, adjusted that strap so his schoolbooks rode higher on his shoulder, then raised his chin.

  That tiny gesture was as close as Tobe ever came to saying good-morning. But Violet was undeterred. “Good morning, Tobe!”

  “You don’t need to walk me to school today,” he announced. Pugnaciously, he frowned at her. “I can get there by myself.”

  “I know you can. That’s what you say every morning.”

  “I prob’ly don’t even need to go to school at all, what with me bein’ here in Morrow Creek temp’rarily. I’ll be pullin’ foot for someplace a little less restrictive pretty soon, I reckon.”

  Patiently, Violet stood waiting. This happened every day.

  “But I can walk there myself,” Tobe nattered on, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for a fight. “I ain’t a baby.”

  “No, you’re not.” Kindly, Violet smiled. “But I aim to walk you to the schoolhouse all the same. Just like I do every day.”

  “You’re dogged, you know that? Prob’ly on account of your bein’ a spinster and all. You ain’t got nothin’ better to do than pester me.” With studied nonchalance, Tobe shrugged. He made a wry face. “But I reckon if I can’t stop you doing it…”

  “Then you might as well quit trying.” With their daily ritual thus complete, Violet hugged him. His copy of McGuffey’s Sixth Eclectic Reader poked her in the ribs. She didn’t mind. It was nice to hug little Tobe—to reassure herself that his scrawny frame had filled out while he was in her care and to know that every day he came a mite closer to actually hugging her back.

  For now, he stood statuelike in her grasp, stoically submitting to her affection. Tobe had been with her for almost two weeks now. He’d alternated his time among the schoolhouse, the Benson household and—during those occasions when Violet had charitable works to do—the homes of her neighbors. He’d even made a few friends with children his own age—at least he had once he’d come to terms with the necessity of playing jacks or marbles with them instead of poker or vingt-et-un. The boy hadn’t asked about Violet’s search for his mother, although he knew she’d been diligently combing every possible local record for clues to Mrs. Larkin’s arrival in and departure from town.

  Violet reasoned that Tobe didn’t want to get his hopes up, only to see them cruelly dashed if she failed to locate his mama. In that way, the boy reminded her curiously of Cade. Both males, one younger and one older, seemed to hunger for something more from life…and both seemed to fear that hope was lost to them forever. If she could, Violet meant to help each of them.

  Reminded of her imminent daily rendezvous with Cade, Violet released Tobe. She took away his books, then set them on the kitchen worktable. “Go on and eat your breakfast now. I have a few chores to do before we leave for the schoolhouse.”

  Eagerly, Tobe raced to his place at the table. “Oatmeal!”

  “With dried peaches,” Violet elaborated, “and cinnamon.”

  She watched fondly as the boy grabbed a spoon and started in. Tasty vittles reliably brought a smile to Tobe’s face, but Violet wasn’t sure why that was. Perhaps his mother was an accomplished cook? Or maybe he was simply a pint-size gourmand?

  Either way, Tobe seemed thoroughly pleased by his meal. Making a mental note to delve more deeply into Miss Walsh’s cookery book for Tobe’s sake, Violet offered him some accompaniments. “More sugar?” she asked. “And some milk?”

  “Mmm. Yes, please!” the boy enthused. While she sprinkled on maple sugar and poured on milk, Tobe watched her face. “You know, you ain’t so bad, Miss Benson. For a preacher’s daughter, I mean. For someone who don’t like craps playing and ain’t fond of saloon girls and skullduggery and everything that’s fun.”

  Violet hid a smile. “What do you know about saloon girls?”

  “Plenty!” He spooned up more oats. “I know they like me.”

  “Who wouldn’t like you? I certainly wasn’t able to help myself. I liked you from the moment I met you.”

  “Yep.” He nodded sagely, chewing with evident enthusiasm. “I reckon that’s ’cause I’m a natural-born charmer, like Cade.”

  “Mr. Foster is probably not someone to be emulated.” But he’s wonderful, all the same. “And I can’t help wondering if the ‘skullduggery’ you just referred to is harmless mischief or something more.” She eyed him. “Would you care to enlighten me?”

  “Nope. If I tole you, it wouldn’t be fun no more.” Tobe sent her an exasperated look. “That’s why I said you don’t like fun. ’Cause you’re always tryin’ to take it away from me.”

  “Only in your best interest.” Fondly, Violet regarded him. She’d never met a more spirited, bright and resilient child.

  Most likely, it occurred to her, Cade had been similar to Tobe in his youth. At least that’s the impression she’d gained from their increasingly intimate conversations. She knew Cade had lived in an ordinary home, then an orphanage, then a variety of foster homes. She knew he’d struck out on his own at a young age. She knew he’d done all he could to protect his younger brother, Judah, during those difficult years and afterward.

  She only wished she knew how to help Cade now. Because even though they’d spent days together—very closely together—Violet still couldn’t piece together the scrambled bits of Cade’s past. She still couldn’t quite understand him. To her, orphanages and foster homes were helpful institutions. They were run by good people. They saved many children who otherwise would have been left on the streets the way Tobe had been. So Violet couldn’t figure out why Cade would say the things he did.

  No one has ever loved me.

  There’s no reason you should be different.

  Violet wanted to prove to him that she was different—that she could restore his faith in himself and other people. Because goodness and kindness and generosity were the norm in the world, not the aberrations Cade seemed to believe they must be. He needed to know that. More than that, he n
eeded to believe it.

  Violet didn’t think Cade had meant to reveal so much of himself to her. But now that he had…it was unthinkable that she would turn away from him. She would sooner sacrifice her own happiness than see Cade disappointed again.

  I won’t give up on you, she’d told him, no matter what.

  Maybe you should, he’d replied heartrendingly. You wouldn’t be the first.

  At that moment, Violet had vowed that she wouldn’t be included among the people who’d given up on Cade. Whatever it took, she would stick by him. In the meantime…

  “Where’s your coat?” she asked Tobe, suddenly alerted to the fact that the boy’s oversize, much-adored warm overcoat wasn’t hanging on its hook where it should have been. “Did you leave it someplace again? It’s too cold to walk to school without it. You’ll catch your death of cold!”

  Tobe quit eating. He gazed downheartedly at his bowl of oats, appearing oddly preoccupied. “My mama used to say that.”

  Violet went still. “She used to say what?”

  “She used to say, ‘You’ll catch your death of cold!’“ His voice was pitched high in mimicry of his mother’s. He gave a faint, unsteady smile. “She didn’t know it wouldn’t be a cold that tore us apart in the end.” Tobe’s gaze met Violet’s. His little brow furrowed. “That’s kinda funny, ain’t it? All that time spent worryin’ about somethin’, then…wham! I wandered away from that train depot at the wrong time, and that’s that.”

  “Tobe…” Violet hurried closer. “I’ll find her. I will.”

  He looked away, his expression stormy. “For all you know, my mama run off on purpose, the minute I was out of sight that day. For all you know, she was glad to be rid of me.”

  “That can’t be true,” Violet argued. “It can’t.”

  “My daddy run off like that, too,” Tobe informed her bluntly, “when I was just a kid. And what do you s’pose my mama and him had in common? Me. That’s it.” Bleakly, Tobe shifted his gaze back to his bowl of oatmeal. “It was me they wanted away from. There’s no use saying it wasn’t.” His lower lip quivered. He swallowed mightily. “But you’re awful kind to try an’ tell me different. That’s what makes you a good person, Miss Benson.”