Ty leaned close to her ear. “This bank is ripe for the pickin’.”
An empty desk to the left probably belonged to the manager. Ty had surveyed the town for ten days, watching people come and go, and had timed their entry with the manager’s lunch break. Her brother might not be honest, but he was smart.
The two clerks turned toward them, and the taller woman stepped up to the counter. She smiled, revealing pearly whites with a wide gap between her top middle teeth. “May I help you?”
“Need some information on opening an account here.” Ty flashed a wide grin that generally melted the hearts of any nearby females. With his black hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, and comely features, women would battle their best friend for his attention. He sauntered up to the counter, looking as if he had all day. He leaned casually on his elbows, grinning at the unsuspecting clerks, and shook his head. “I’m surprised this bank ain’t overflowing with men, considerin’ how pretty you lovely ladies are.”
Carly rolled her eyes at the blush on both women’s cheeks. The second clerk giggled behind her hand.
“I’m Miss Holt, and this is Mrs. Springer.” She batted her lashes as if she’d been in a dust storm. “I apologize, but Mr. Wattenburger, the bank manager, is the only one who can open accounts. He’s currently at lunch but will return soon.”
Carly eased toward the wall, fascinated by the elaborate gold brocade wallpaper that blended well with the dark wainscoting. Never having seen anything so fancy, she reached out and touched the raised surface. Ty cleared his throat, pulling her mind back to their business. If she inched to her left a few feet, she’d be behind the counter.
“I’m only in town a short while. Maybe there’s someone else here who could help me?” Ty glanced toward a back room where the vault was probably kept.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Wattenburger is the only one that can help you.” Miss Holt glanced at a watch pinned to the bodice of her stiff white blouse. “He should be back in less than a half hour. Could you wait?”
“Perfect. That gives me just enough time.” Ty straightened and reached for his gun.
Her Colt ready, Carly did the same and slipped behind the counter.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t come back—” Mrs. Springer slammed her mouth shut and frowned at them. Miss Holt gasped and stepped back.
Carly pulled the burlap sack out from under her arm and held it out. “Just fill this up, and make it fast. We don’t want nobody gettin’ hurt.”
With shaking hands, the two women emptied the cash and gold coins from their teller drawers into the bag. They cowered together, all visible admiration for Ty gone.
“What about the vault?” he asked.
“I–it’s closed.” Miss Holt hiked up her chin.
Mrs. Springer gasped and nudged her friend with her elbow. “Tell him the truth. I don’t want to get shot. I have two little ones, you know.”
Ty narrowed his gaze and stalked to the back room, then reappeared in the doorway. “Get back here. Both of you.”
Mrs. Springer whimpered but plodded forward, arms linked with Miss Holt. “Please don’t shoot us. I’ve got children, and I’m a widow. They don’t have anyone else to care for them.”
Carly’s heart went out to her, knowing her mother had been in the same situation.
“Hey, kid! Get that bag in here.”
She jumped and hurried to the vault, coins clinking in the bottom of the sack. Ty dumped in handfuls of money that were banded with a paper wrapping around the middle. Carly’s eyes widened at the sight of so much cash. Robbing trains never brought in anything like this, although they had ended up with some nice watches.
Ty threw the bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Carly scurried out of the room, and Ty stopped, waving the gun at the two women. “You keep quiet until the manager returns. I’ll have a gunman watching the door, and if you call out an alarm, he’ll shoot you. Understand?”
Tears rolled down Mrs. Springer’s cheeks, and she nodded. Miss Holt was slower to respond.
Ty stepped up to her. “You understand, Miss Holt? I’d hate for such a pretty little thing to end up with a hole in her chest.”
He pressed the barrel of his gun to her bodice, and her eyes went wide. She nodded. Ty grabbed Miss Holt suddenly and kissed her hard on the lips. Mrs. Springer squealed, wobbled, and collapsed with a thud on the ground. Miss Holt looked as if she would join her any moment.
“C’mon. We need to get outta here,” Carly yelled, careful not to say her brother’s name. The clerks had already seen their faces.
Grinning wide, Ty stormed past her. She followed, glancing back at the door to make sure the women stayed where they were. Outside, they vaulted onto their horses. Emmett headed one way while she and Ty went the other. Folks were so busy tending to their own business that nobody noticed a thing. Bank robbing was as easy as picking clothespins off a laundry line—and a lot more profitable.
Just outside of town, Carly pulled her horse to a stop, leaned over, and spilled her guts.
CHAPTER 8
Rachel sat on the settee in the parlor sipping tea with her good friend Martha Phillips. “So, how has Hank been? Has he been very busy doctoring folks?”
“No, not too busy. With the warmer weather, there haven’t been as many people taking ill.” Martha nibbled on a sugar cookie then dabbed her lips. “I suppose you’ve heard by now that Louise Chambers had her baby a few days ago. Hank delivered their third son.”
“No, I hadn’t.” Rachel shook her head, thinking of the three baby boys she’d lost. Still, she mustered some excitement for the kind lady she’d met at church. “They must be delighted. How is she doing?”
“Fine, last time Hank checked.” Martha let out a sigh and looked down. “I wish that I could become with child. We’ve been married two years now.”
Rachel watched a fly creep up her floral wallpaper as she considered her response. She knew that saying it was God’s will didn’t help one bit. “You’re still young yet. Sometimes these things take time.”
“Not for you. Guessing by the age of your daughter, you must have gotten with child on your wedding night.” Martha’s eyes went wide and her hand lifted to her mouth. “Oh dear. I beg your pardon. Hank talks freely to me of such things, and I tend to forget that such topics are not proper conversation.”
Rachel forced a smile. Martha hadn’t lived in Lookout back then, didn’t know the circumstances around her pregnancy with Jacqueline—but then, neither did anyone else. Once again she breathed a prayer of thanks that her daughter had been so tiny at birth. Everyone assumed she’d been born early. “Think nothing of it.”
“Hank is continually telling me to think before I speak, but I confess that I find it difficult. I tend to just blurt out whatever comes to mind.” She lifted her cup to her lips and gazed out the window. Her eyes suddenly went wide. She stood and set the cup and saucer on the end table. “I’m afraid it’s time I was going. I need to get Hank’s supper on the stove.”
Rachel peered out the window to see what could have disturbed her guest. Agatha Linus and Bertha Boyd barreled down the street toward the boardinghouse like a locomotive at full steam.
“Thank you for offering to make those pies for the church bazaar.” Martha tied on her bonnet and reached for the screen door. “Next time, you must come to my house for tea.”
“My pleasure.” Rachel waved good-bye to her friend and waited on the porch for the busybody train to arrive. Visiting with Agatha and Aunt Beebee, as Bertha was better known, was always an experience, but she needed to get supper started for her guests soon. She’d have to make the visit with the two older women short, if that was possible.
“H’lo, dearie.” Aunt Beebee waved her plump arm in the air as if she was at a hallelujah service. In her other hand, she balanced a pie. As she waved, the pie leaned precariously to the left. Rachel held her breath, but Beebee righted it before it could take a tumble.
Agatha smiled, looki
ng embarrassed by her sister’s outgoing display. Where Beebee was wide, Aggie was thin. Beebee was vibrant and gregarious, while her sister was prim, soft spoken, and proper. After losing both their husbands within a short time period, the two older women had sold their neighboring ranches and taken up living in town, much to the chagrin of the townsfolk.
“Good afternoon.” Rachel smiled and held the door open to allow the two women to enter.
Beebee plopped the pie into Rachel’s free hand. “That there’s my prize shoofly pie.” She leaned toward Rachel. “Made with our grandma’s secret ingredient.”
“Why, thank you.” Rachel lifted the pie to smell it, wondering what it would cost her. Beebee always expected information in exchange for her treats, and Rachel doubted today would be any different.
Everyone in town knew Aunt Beebee’s secret ingredient was rum, though folks never let on they knew. Rachel would love to eat pie other than her own, but she didn’t partake of alcohol in any form. Her boarders would probably enjoy it though.
“Goodness me. Today must be the day to go visiting.” Beebee huffed past Rachel into the house, bringing with her an overpowering scent of perfume. “I just saw the doctor’s wife take her leave. Too bad she couldn’t stay a bit longer.”
Rachel nodded at Agatha as she came in. “Martha said she needed to get her husband’s supper started. I must confess that I will need to do the same soon.”
“No problem a’tall.” Beebee barreled her way into the parlor, bumping the end table and rattling Rachel’s hurricane lamp. “We only came for a short visit.”
The hair on Rachel’s neck stood on end. When Beebee and Aggie’s visits were short—and they rarely were—it meant they came with a specific purpose in mind. What could they want?
Beebee backed toward the settee and dropped down. The couch creaked and groaned from her near three hundred pounds. Rachel swallowed, hoping the antique that had belonged to James’s grandmother could withstand the torture it was enduring. Beebee lifted her skirt a few inches off the floor and fanned it. “Whew! It’s mighty warm for April.”
Rachel glanced at Aggie, whose eyes widened at her sister’s unconventional behavior. Aggie ducked her head, cheeks flaming, and stared into her lap. Sometimes Rachel wondered if the women had been adopted or had different mothers. No two sisters could be any more different.
“I’d have been here sooner but have been laid up with a sore foot. It’s downright impossible to find decent shoes in this town.” Beebee patted her large hairdo that resembled a hornet’s nest. “I just had to come over and see how you were getting along now that Luke Davis is back in town. Seems he’s been spending plenty of time with your daughter. And poor Rand Kessler. Whatever must he be thinking?”
Rachel’s heart somersaulted. She’d known Beebee had had an agenda for visiting, but she hadn’t considered it might be Luke. She set the pie on the parlor table and took a seat.
Aggie shook her head. “I told her to leave be, but she wouldn’t listen.”
Beebee frowned at her sister, and Aggie ducked her head again, fingering the fold of her matronly gray skirt. Beebee turned her gaze back toward Rachel and rested her plump hands on her skirt, the colors of a field of wildflowers.
Rachel swallowed hard, knowing whatever she said to Aunt Beebee would get around town quicker than a raging fire.
“It must be hard on you to have Luke back, I mean with you having to cook and clean for the man, what with him not even being your own husband.” Beebee shook her head and swung her gaze toward her sister. “Don’t you think that would be difficult, Agatha—to have the man you once thought you’d marry but didn’t back in town and having to care for him? Why, James is probably rolling in his grave, bless his heart.”
Aggie’s gray eyes went wide. She reached up and pulled the collar of the stark white blouse away from her throat.
“Now that James is gone, surely you and Luke are gonna get back together. For the child’s sake. That little scamp certainly needs a father, and I never thought that Kessler fellow was right for you.”
“Bertha, that’s none of your business.” Aggie fanned her face with her hand. “And Rand Kessler is a fine gentleman.”
Rachel jumped to her feet. “Oh, forgive me. I forgot to ask if you’d like some tea.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Beebee glowered at her sister and reached for the teapot still on the table beside the settee. She pulled off the lid and peered in.
“I could heat it up if you’d like.” Rachel wanted to suck back the words as soon as she said them. Heating the water would take time and cause the ladies to stay longer.
“No need. As hot as it is, cool tea will be refreshing,” Beebee said.
Rachel grabbed the pie Beebee had brought and hurried to the kitchen for extra cups. She glanced around, knowing all she needed to do, and breathed a prayer for patience. Back in the parlor, she filled a cup and handed it to Beebee.
Rachel offered another cup to Aggie, but she shook her head. “Thank you, but I just had some tea a short while ago.”
Beebee drank nearly the whole cup, set it down, and reached for a cookie from the platter on the table. She lifted her brow at Rachel. “Well...”
Rachel didn’t know what to say that Beebee couldn’t construe the wrong way. She rubbed her thumb back and forth on the cording of her seat cushion. “Luke and I merely have a business arrangement. As a benefit of his job as marshal, I cook for him and any prisoners he has and clean the Sunday house, and I receive some additional income for doing so. There is nothing personal about it.”
Aunt Beebee snagged the final cookie, looking less than convinced. She waved a beefy hand in the air, scattering crumbs. “All of us who were in Lookout back then know that you two young folks were as tight as a tick on a hound dog. Now that that worthless James is gone, there’s nothing to keep you from marrying Luke.”
Rachel and Agatha gasped in unison.
“Bertha, that’s hardly any concern of yours,” Agatha protested.
“It’s nobody’s concern.” Rachel grasped the edge of her chair as if she were on a runaway wagon. “All that is in the past. I’m a widow with a daughter now.”
Beebee’s thick lips turned up. “That Luke Davis is a handsome man—and unmarried. If you don’t snatch him up soon, someone else will, mind my words.”
Agatha lurched to her feet. “Uh ... thank you for your hospitality, but I’m afraid we must be going. Come along, Bertha.”
“But I’m not done visiting yet.” Taking up her cup, she sipped her tea and gave her sister a pinched look.
Rachel forced herself to stand. “I’m afraid I must head to the kitchen now, or I won’t have supper ready on time for my guests.”
“Well, if you insist.” On the third attempt, Beebee managed to stand.
“Please come again sometime.” The words nearly scalded Rachel’s throat as she uttered them, but she refused to be inhospitable, even if her guests made her uncomfortable. “Maybe around two,” she said, hoping the older ladies would be napping then. “That will give us more time.”
Beebee nodded, making the rolls on her three chins jiggle like a turkey’s wattle. “We’ll just do that. Come along, Agatha. We best be getting out of Rachel’s way so she can get her cooking done. Do enjoy the pie, Rachel, and have that girl of yours bring the plate back when you’re done with it. Mind that she doesn’t break it.”
“Thank you,” Rachel mumbled.
As Beebee lumbered out the front door, Aggie stopped beside Rachel. “I’m terribly sorry. She means well.”
Rachel nodded and stood in the open doorway, watching the two women make their way down the street. The bank president had the misfortune to step outside the bank just as the ladies approached.
“Well, how do there, Mr. Castleby.” Bertha was so close the banker took a step back.
Rachel held tight to the doorjamb. Had she kept her expression clear enough when Beebee had talked about Luke and her marrying? Would everyone
in town expect Luke and her to get married? What would Rand think if he heard such talk?
She thought of Luke’s cold expression the first few times she’d run into him and shook her head. Luke Davis no longer had designs on her. She was the last person he would consider marrying.
CHAPTER 9
The Bennett Farm near Carthage, Missouri
Leah Bennett dumped the last of the dishwater out the kitchen door and rubbed her lower back. Only nineteen, and she felt done in already. Shaking her head, she turned back into the kitchen to see what else needed cleaning before she could start working on the huge mending pile that never seemed to have an end. Mabel and Molly, her fifteen-year-old twin sisters, dried the last of the supper dishes with their heads together, giggling and talking about which of the town’s boys they hoped to see at church on Sunday. The twins were the closest sisters to Leah in age, but they’d never needed her companionship.
The Anonymous Bride (Texas Boardinghouse Brides 1) Page 6
