by Tanya Hanson
“Of course.” Hawk nodded, wondered why he hadn’t thought of it first. “Yes. And the livery. Handbills about town. Hmmmm. A newspaper advertisement, that’s it. That’ll reach more men than just here in town.”
“Just men?” Cordy stiffened, pretty gaze hardening. “Why can’t women participate?”
“On sidesaddles?” Shock flicked him.
“Pooh. Around here, women ride Western as well as any man.” Even though she sat, her hands found her hips, elbows pointing in outrage. “Myself included.”
“Well, this demonstration is men only. I put my foot down about it.” In emphasis, Hawk did just that. The puncheon floor groaned beneath the colorful hooked rug. “How soon can we get a Help Wanted into the newspaper?”
“The Trumpet goes out tomorrow. We’ll have to hurry.” Cordy’s sudden smile stopped his breath. “I’ll get a first draft written up right now.” She left to scrawl something in her guest ledger, and ripped out the page. “What do you think?”
Help Wanted Immediately
Stalwart horsemen with superior mounts needed to prove horses can fly. Entry Fee: One dollar
Financial awards upon proof.
Request reply in person or by wire: The Honorable Keaton Shockley, Paradise Boardinghouse
“The honorable Keaton Shockley? I’d rather seem a regular cowboy. Mr. Hawk Shockley.” His mouth twisted.
“No. You need to put your roots on display. Trust me.” She plopped down next to him. “You must show Paradise the titled Englishman you were born. Fancy boots and all. Many Americans adore Queen Victoria and admire the British way of life. And the rest will come to mock a foreign dandy-man trespassing on their native soil.”
“That last doesn’t sound very hospitable.” For the first time, doubt struck him. “What…what if the citizens of Paradise County consider me a charlatan? A troublemaker?”
Her gentle hand touched his shoulder. “I’m all the respectability you need. My brother was the charlatan and troublemaker. And he’s gone.”
Hawk chewed his bottom lip. “All right then. I will publicize my heritage. Cordy, this answers both our needs!” He planted a kiss on her forehead, and his lips sizzled.
Chapter Three
Under Hawk’s mouth, Cordy’s forehead warmed along with her heart. In ten minutes, he had shown more concern for her well-being than her brother ever had. She sought to slow her pounding blood. Those moments in his arms still raced from top to toe. Well, she counted to ten. Her heart might have fallen for Hawk from the start, but she had to calm the explosion inside her and hearken to her good sense.
Apparently Hawk was a younger son with an elder sibling who had been better, luckier. Smarter? Whose parents cared less for.
Just like Clancy.
Papa had long disdained Clancy’s lazy intellect, and Mama hadn’t even waved goodbye to her naughty baby when the train left Burlington. Was Cordy about to go through the whole reckless, heartsick journey again? Still, her heart pittered.
As if sensing her withdrawal, Hawk pulled back. “Please forgive my…enthusiasm. But Cordy, our idea will work. I promise it will. All is on the up and up. I shall make proper arrangements.” He picked up the Help Wanted draft and rose.
Well, she did need money. What choice did she have?
“Do you think—” Her voice shook with both excitement and warning. “—One dollar is too hefty an entry fee? And what do we charge spectators?”
“First things first. One dollar is a fine price.” Hawk smiled, confident and handsome, and her heart beat harder. “Too cheap and we seem a joke. Too expensive, we out-price our entrants. Hmmmm.” Hawk’s lids lowered, lost in thought. Her breath caught anyway. “We might even…make book on certain riders.”
Her backbone prickled with warning. Making book was gambling, wasn’t it? Clancy had met his end trying to outsmart a cardsharp. But. She swallowed. If such activity helped get her out of trouble, she might have no choice but to go along. “I suppose I see your point. Anyway, the experiment plans to be both fun and profitable. Perhaps even educational.”
“Exactly! We might even garner some support from the headmaster.”
“Schoolmarm,” Cordy inserted, briskly, still miffed at Hawk’s no-women rule. “Katie Haynes is my friend and a smart lady. She and all her pupils were stranded at the schoolhouse during January’s horrible blizzards, so she had the children take turns and constantly keep the bell ringing. And she managed to tie a guide string to the outhouse. For more than a day. I’m sure she’ll be convinced.” Cordy wound her fingers together.
“Impressive! She sounds quite the smart lady.” Hawk smiled big, then he frowned. “Yet I hear your misgiving. All of this is happening quite fast. And yet I seek you to trust me, a stranger. I confess. I’m not accustomed to…charity, but I’ll understand should you prefer to seek the reverend’s poor box.” His voice, his face, were tender, but she heard his disappointment.
“No.” Of course Reverend Satterburg would help. He’d offered ever since—she gulped. Ever since he’d brought her the dreadful news. Clancy, shot through the heart and lying dead behind Skinny Hank’s. However, Cordy wanted to cipher her way through the mess without charity and with hard work. She needed to be strong and clever now, if she wanted to start over someplace else where there’d be no helping hand. Of course there was no shame in Hawk assisting her now, but she’d be helping him right back, doing her part, not taking a handout. “No, I’ll make it.”
“Ah.” He smiled tenderly and her heart trilled an extra beat. “I understand how it feels to fend for oneself.”
“Well, I’ve no father to impress.” And my brother’s dead. Her spirit hurt for a flash, but practically reared. “Perhaps I should say, we’ll make it.” Then she nibbled the inside of her cheek. “On another note, when you meet Sheriff Pelton, you ought to report the robbery at the train station. If the thief is caught, there might be a reward.”
Hawk shook his head, stood up and bowed. That silly trill again. All the way down to the deepest pit of her belly.
“No. I can’t mention the theft.” He gave a half-grin. “The sheriff would know I’m penniless and may proclaim our contest a scam. Which it is not, Cordy. You have my word.”
Again, she basked under Hawk’s concern. “All right then. You run your errands, and I’ll get supper.”
“Thank you, Cordy.” He took her hand and kissed it, but formally. Her skin simmered anyway. “Thank you for putting up with my harebrained scheme.”
Harebrained scheme? The heat evaporated, and she shivered as she walked with him to the door. Even though they had found each other at the right time, the very same day and hour both of their plans had collapsed, panic assailed her.
Even though they had the same goals and needed money and wanted to leave Paradise. Harebrained…
Still, her blood boiled at the sight of him. His backside swayed deliciously beneath his duster as he strode across the cobblestones of the main street. Amazing how elegant he appeared even with his trouser legs tucked into his boots like everybody else’s so they didn’t drag through the damp. Yet caution screamed, and she finally looked away.
Rum hole, braggadocios, contest, making book.
She swallowed hard. It would only be a good partnership as long as she kept both eyes open and her heart closed.
Harebrained scheme. The syllables sounded warnings in her head. For the secretive Hair and Brains Club at Bronckton College had caused her downfall. For the initiation into its fraternity, new members were to woo, seduce, then slander local girls.
She slammed her front door. Fortunately, rich boy Lambert Truefitt had stopped his despicable intentions as soon as he learned the identity of her late father, the renowned Professor Augustus Meeker. But Lambert’s repair of her reputation had been halfhearted at best, the damage done. Her humiliation complete.
Reality smacked her hard by the time she saw Hawk hurl open the door to the sheriff’s office. She hated herself for liking the sight of som
eone so wrong for her, and she closed the curtain of the front window. Griped away the memory of his warm arms rescuing her from her tumble.
What rich man truly considered the needs of the lower born? She snorted. Would he have been so earnest in helping her had he no needs of his own? After all, Keaton Shockley was a nobleman, despite the rustic moniker Hawk. She wanted a simple cowboy with an honest wage.
And that was that.
As for now, Hawk Shockley was her lodger and business partner. And could be nothing more. But she opened the curtain a crack just in case she might see him. When she didn’t, her heart smacked her ribs in disappointment, and she hated herself anew.
With unladylike foot-stomping, she left the little foyer to start supper. Nothing fancy, but hearty. A meat pie with pork belly from the smoke house, a potato or two, and some dried peas she hoped would unshrivel in the egg mixture she poured over everything. Had she known she’d have a last minute guest, she’d have used part of her life savings to prepare her well-regarded chicken and biscuits.
A meat pie would have to do. She tied her apron tighter. Had Hawk ever eaten one? And she’d be sharing it. Did she still have some elderberry wine? Was her aunt’s sterling silverware too much? Would she spill? Somehow, she trembled with nerves.
By the time a glorious Nebraska sunset stabbed through the clouds outside her kitchen window, Cordy had no more worries about an intimate meal with a nobleman. For Hawk surged into her kitchen, followed by seven noisy, everyday men. One she recognized from his habitual stares at her during church.
“Hello there, Miz Cordy,” Gunnar Schlaap drawled.
She ignored him and pulled Hawk away from the swarm. “What is this?” Even in her pique and surprise, her fingertips heated when they touched his arm, as if their flesh met through the fabric.
“Dinner guests.” Hawk’s grin was almost shy.
“Dinner?” At his smile, her heart went into full tremor, so her voice was harsher than she liked. “You mean supper.”
“Supper, then.” He bent with a quick bow. “May I present the first of our entrants?”
The seven hollered, reeked of whiskey but fortunately, Hawk did neither.
“Entrants?” Her tone was breathless now. He was so near.
“Yes.” Pride swelled around Hawk. “I simply mentioned our experiment whilst I wandered the saloon, and these fine gents are eager to sign up.”
“Sign up? What on earth? We’ve barely had time to think our thoughts.” Cordy jammed her hands on her hipbones.
Hawk shooed the herd toward the dining room, then faced her. “Hence we need to rush. We don’t dare contain such excitement. Our news is spreading like the proverbial wildfire.” He grabbed her hands in enthusiasm only but her flesh sparked anyway. “Cordy, our Help Wanted will appear in tomorrow’s edition. As we speak, Miss Daisy at The Trumpet is using her typewriting machine and carbon paper to prepare multiple copies of our contract. Plus I’ve hired her to print up handbills we can distribute and paste up everywhere. In town, nearby villages. All throughout the county.”
“Handbills? Contract?” Her mouth opened so far her chin all but touched her collar. “You’ve been gone barely two hours. Are you a man of law now?”
Hawk’s shrug raised her hands to his chest. His heart pounded in rhythm with hers. “Sheriff Pelton provided me with a copy of the Bonnet Race rules,” he said. “I ran with those. It will be an authentic and respectable document. And the exhibition itself, legal and proper. Miss Daisy will wait upon entry fees for her payment. But in the meantime, the men and I will do handshakes tonight.”
His rapid speech slowed to a halt, but his energy exhausted Cordy anyway. With knees weak from his nearness, she had no choice but to turn stern. She nudged her shoulder toward the horde smoking up her dining room with their long-nine cigars.
“No more cigars or whiskey,” she hissed at Hawk, and then pushed at him. “House rules. That behavior is for the saloon. I’ll get coffee brewed up now. You sit down in there, too and entertain our, uh, guests. Make certain you explain the—wonders of your exhibition before the handshaking.”
She caught her breath, cold now even with the oven blazing. This…thing was moving faster than she’d expected, and she wasn’t sure how to behave. But first things first. The meat pie would probably feed five people, maybe three, maybe six, depending on the hunger levels of those involved and how full their bellies were with prior drink. Hawk himself, with his brawny muscles, likely didn’t possess a dainty appetite. Even though she planned on giving up her portion, she best cook up something else to go along.
Goodness, he was beautiful.
Fortunately, springtime had sprung enough for her hens to be laying well. She fried up eggs and surrounded the smiling faces with slices of the three potatoes she had left. Another sojourn to the mercantile awaited. Now at least, she’d have money for groceries and to make the payment on her account.
She sprinkled canned peaches with cinnamon, stuck the bowl on the family-style table in the dining room, and ran back to the kitchen in self-preservation. No need to tempt Gunnar Schlaap’s bright eyes and roving fingers. He and the rest had sobered up nicely thanks to the strength of the Arbuckle’s coffee she’d brewed.
As she pumped water into the sink, satisfaction brushed her. At twenty-five cents a meal, she’d made almost two dollars for her efforts. Hawk’s portion, of course, was included in his rent fee, even though he had yet to hand it over. She let him eat anyway. After all, he was bringing in business.
As soon as the supper guests shuffled on home, Hawk dashed to her side. Her breath caught. He grabbed a dishtowel, herself elbow deep in suds.
“What are you doing? You’re my guest, and…” Didn’t earls have gaggles of servants?
“I am eager to help you, Cordy. I brought extra work for you. And I’m not afraid of hard work and have done my share.” His smile sent her heart singing. As if his mere help wasn’t reward enough. She smiled back and meant every muscle of it.
He grabbed a thick china plate. “In my boyhood, I spent many summertimes working at the ranch owned by the cattle company. I acted like, and was treated like, everybody else. That’s been my goal my whole life through.”
“Your whole life through? You sound like an old man.” She chuckled, heated when he returned a smile.
“My father took Button—Burton”—he grinned—“and me on hunting expeditions in the Rockies when we were boys. Hence his subsequent interest in ranching. I fell in love with the American West. The wide open spaces. Mountains mightier than the fanciest cathedral feeble men design.” Hawk actually sighed.
Ah. Cordy felt that herself. Mr. Muir. Mr. Thoreau. In truth, the rolling plains around her fed the nation, with farmers hearty and strong, and proud, righteous women. But she missed the mountains. She wasn’t crazy about men who made sport of murdering beautiful animals, but a woman like her, born in the White Mountains who’d grown up surrounded by the Green Mountains, needed mountains. And a woman who didn’t dare go back home had nowhere else to go but The Rockies.
Hawk sighed. “I can’t wait to take my place at the ranch.”
“You mentioned hoping to set things right.”
“Yes, I do hope so.” Hawk dried the last plate while she poured two cups of coffee, nodded toward the little parlor. Her heart was touched, she couldn’t deny—he’d already lit a fire in the Pennsylvania fireplace. “First came hordes of hungry grasshoppers chewing up the range. Then, the harsh winter of a year ago cost the company some eighty percent of the herd. Since summer, the ranch has been mostly abandoned.” He looked away with an emotion she couldn’t read. “I was left a bit of money by my mother’s estate, and I hope to purchase the land legally. If I can, being a Brit. And raise horses.”
Ah, he still grieved for his mother. Admiration for him simmered in her veins for so many reasons. “That’s a wonderful ambition. I want to see the Rockies myself. After this coil of foreclosure.” She shivered. “I want to start over.”
>
Cordy set down the tray on Aunt Edith’s occasional table, and sank next to him on the settee. He sat close but appropriate, and the slippery horsehair upholstery brought her nearer. His warmth set her blood boiling.
“What brought you here, Cordy? I hear New England in your tone.”
She’d never tell, not the entire truth. Not nasty Lambert Truefitt. The inheritance had come at the proper time. Just like Hawk and his experiment, she realized. She forced her mind away from the masculine thigh muscles burgeoning inside his trousers.
“Indeed, I am a New Englander.” She took a sip. “The inn was my aunt’s. Upon President Lincoln’s Homestead Law, she and her bridegroom came here to farm. Sadly, they lost their sons in an epidemic. When my uncle died, she moved to town. The reverend’s mother took ill, so Auntie Edith bought the boardinghouse from her. In her will, she left it to my brother and me.” Cordy paused, cleared her throat in the silence. “It seemed an opportunity.”
Hawk’s fingers drifted across hers. “The men told me. About Clarence. I’m so sorry.”
Cordy wasn’t, at least, not the men telling him. That meant she didn’t have to. For a flash, she treated herself to the trickle of his touch.
“Thank you, Hawk,” she replied after swiping him away to protect her heart. “Now I’m on my own. With places to see and plans to make.” Something about him touched her. Certainly she had been as patient and affectionate with Clancy as Burton had been to Hawk. The odd kinship made revelation easy. “I do think you appeared in my life as just the right time. Even though you came about that silly outlaw. Outlawing isn’t as exotic as one reads about.”
“In the dime novels?” Over his cup, Hawk chuckled with such familiarity she wondered if he read them, too.
“No.” She grinned. “The newspaper. I mean, poor Jesse James, shot in his own parlor. But did you start out in London?”
“Yes. Brilliant city. Reeks of history and strength.” He stretched out his legs. Indeed, his boots were fine ones but so out of place in Paradise she hid a smile.
