Loving the Landlord

by Amelia C. Adams

  “If you never showed them to anyone, how do you know they weren’t very good? We can be our own harshest critics. Perhaps you should let someone else see them and listen to their opinion.”

  “I don’t know about that,” he said. He paused for a long moment, and she wondered if she’d been too pushy. She was about to apologize when he said, “I struggle to put my thoughts down on paper the way I’d like. The letters I wrote you … well, it took me quite a while to get them written.”

  “But they were lovely,” she replied, realizing as she spoke that she meant it. “The way you described the butterflies made me want to see them for myself. You do have a way with words. You just need to trust yourself more.”

  He didn’t reply, but she could tell from the look on his face that he was pleased.

  After a moment, he brought the buggy to a stop and pointed off to the right. “There,” he said.

  She followed the length of his arm and saw a tiny little gathering of butterflies flitting and fluttering over the tall waving grasses. “Oh, they’re lovely,” she said, watching in awe. “A whole flock … herd … um, what do you call a group of butterflies?”

  “A kaleidoscope,” Mr. Thurgood replied.

  “Really? That’s lovely.” She watched as the butterflies dipped and rose again, catching the breezes and making them their own.

  “Let’s get closer. With any luck, we’ll catch one, and you can see the colors I mentioned.”

  He helped her down, and she decided to leave her parasol in the buggy. She simply couldn’t imagine having to defend herself from him, and she wanted both hands free to carry her skirts while they walked through the grass. They approached slowly so as not to startle the butterflies, and he coached her as they drew near.

  “Don’t touch or grasp them,” he said, taking her elbow when she stumbled a bit on a bump in the ground. “Instead, hold out your hand, and they might land on your finger or arm. If you touch them, you could injure their wings and make it impossible for them to fly ever again.”

  “Oh, that would be horrible.” She paused and watched as one came closer to her face, then darted away again. “They … they don’t bite, do they?”

  She expected him to laugh, but he answered her kindly. “No, they don’t bite. They are some of the gentlest creatures on earth. They live on nectar, which they drink from flowers, and tree sap. Some caterpillars eat rotting animal matter, but we don’t need to dwell on that for long.”

  “Thank you. I’d rather not.”

  They stood nearly motionless for a moment, Ariadne all but holding her breath, praying in the back of her mind that she might be allowed to hold a butterfly just for the smallest bit of time. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought of before, but now that she was presented with the possibility, she wanted it so much, it was nearly an ache. She held out her hand, watching as the butterflies danced here and there and everywhere, but not landing for a visit.

  “Here,” Mr. Thurgood said, reaching into his breast pocket. “Take this gumdrop, lick it, and rub it on your finger. Butterflies love sweet things, and if they smell the sugar on your finger, they might come to investigate.”

  Ariadne took the gumdrop and did as he said, then held out her hand again. Nothing happened, and she was becoming discouraged, but then one small butterfly came and landed there ever so gently. Ariadne gasped. It was the most incredible thing that had ever happened to her.

  “Look at the markings,” Mr. Thurgood spoke softly near her ear. “Do you see how on the top, it resembles a monarch, but underneath, it has a distinct look all its own?”

  She brought her hand closer to her face to get a better look, and thankfully, her little visitor didn’t take off. “Amazing,” she whispered. The vibrancy of each hue was unbelievable, as though God had taken a paintbrush to each and every one of them and created a masterpiece.

  They stood there, living in the moment, until the butterfly decided it was done investigating and flew away. Ariadne pulled in the first deep breath she’d taken for several minutes and laughed. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Thurgood. I’ll never forget that, not as long as I live.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome. I’m so glad you didn’t find it boring.”

  “Boring? Oh, no, not at all! I held a butterfly. What could be boring about that?”

  They made their way back to the buggy and he helped her inside. She was still exulting in the moment—in all her life, she’d never experienced anything that felt so freeing. It was almost as though she’d grown wings of her own and had taken to flight.

  “I hope I haven’t kept you out too late,” Mr. Thurgood said as the sun dipped behind the mountains. “The butterflies are the most active at certain times of day, you see, and in certain weather conditions.”

  “This is fine,” she told him. “I would have gone earlier or stayed later to have this experience—it was well worth it. Have you ever seen fireflies? They don’t live in England, but I’m told they do here.”

  “Not in Colorado, but they do farther east. I’ve never seen one personally.”

  “Well then, perhaps we should find someone who has and make them tell us all about it.” She realized that she’d lumped the two of them together as though they were some sort of couple or a unit, and that wasn’t what she had intended, but then she had another realization—she wouldn’t at all mind calling Mr. Thurgood a friend, and friends could definitely talk to other friends about fireflies. There was nothing at all wrong with that.

  They passed Mr. Wells as they came up the road. He was walking toward the boarding house, and he tipped his hat when he saw them. Ariadne responded with a nod, feeling just a bit embarrassed to be seen in another man’s buggy, but she shoved the feeling aside. After all, she’d just decided that she and Mr. Thurgood were friends, and she could never have too many of those.

  ***

  Wendell helped Miss Stoker down from the buggy and saw her inside, then closed his eyes and breathed a silent prayer of thanks before returning to the horse. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed, but it certainly seemed called for in that moment. He’d just spent a wonderful evening with the sweetest girl he could imagine, and it never would have happened without Miss Chapel’s help. He would have messed it all up in some way, he was sure, but now he could safely say that they were getting to know each other, and she seemed to appreciate the little odd things about him that he didn’t share with just anyone. He couldn’t believe he’d told her about the fairies, but it had seemed natural and right, and she hadn’t laughed at him. Amazing.

  He returned the horse and buggy to Otto’s livery, then walked back toward his apartment. As he went, he noticed that Mr. Wells was still standing just about where he’d been earlier, but now he was talking to a man—a man who kept his face turned away as though he didn’t want to be seen. Wendell wasn’t about to get in someone else’s business, but he did notice that the man looked an awful lot like Wade, a hooligan who had been accused of blowing up a mining shack a short while back, along with some other things, and had been waiting trial in the jail cell inside KC Murray’s office. But it couldn’t be Wade—why would he be out of prison?

  It wasn’t any of his concern, so Wendell passed by without comment and went home. Curiosity kept itching the back of his brain until he finally turned his thoughts to something much more pleasant—the look on Ariadne’s face as she studied the butterfly on her finger. She was simply angelic, as though she had feathered wings of her own. He chuckled for a moment—he’d never seen wings on Miss Chapel, and he wasn’t about to ask about them. All he knew was that Ariadne was most certainly a gift from God, and now it remained to find out if she was a gift meant for him.

  Chapter Nine

  When Wendell got up the next morning, his thoughts returned to Ariadne, but then he recalled seeing Wade out on the street, and he knew he wouldn’t have any peace until he learned what was going on. He bathed and dressed as quickly as he could, then headed down to see KC Murray.


  KC nodded grimly when Wendell told him what he’d seen the previous evening. “We had Wade dead to rights, or so we thought,” KC said, “but then this fancy pants lawyer showed up here yesterday afternoon with a letter from someone who claimed they were actually the one who had committed all those crimes. This lawyer demanded that we release Wade until further investigation, and I hated to do it, but I had to let him go. The letter presented evidence I couldn’t ignore.”

  “What kind of evidence?” Wendell asked.

  “I can’t go into that because it’s an open case, but there were things that only the real perpetrator would have known, and it’s definitely thrown the investigation into a loop.” KC passed a hand down his face, and Wendell thought he looked like he hadn’t slept in a day or two.

  “I hope you can get it all straightened out soon,” Wendell said, wishing there was something of real help he could do, and KC nodded.

  “Thank you. We’re going to keep at it until we know what’s going on.”

  Wendell stopped by Graham’s for a quick cup of coffee, then headed into the office. He was surprised to find Mr. Wells standing outside the door, waiting for him to unlock it.

  “Morning, Mr. Wells,” he said, fishing around in his pocket for the key.

  “Good morning.” Mr. Wells followed Wendell inside as soon as the door was open. “I hope you don’t mind my coming by so early.”

  “Not at all. I’m actually running a bit late.” Wendell hung up his hat, then turned to face his visitor. “Have a seat. What can I do for you?”

  Mr. Wells cleared his throat. “Actually, the first thing I’d like to discuss is personal and has nothing to do with business at all. I couldn’t help but notice that you and Miss Stoker were out for a drive last night.”

  “Yes, I took her out searching for butterflies.” Surely Mr. Wells couldn’t see anything wrong with that, and it was none of his concern anyway. Why was he even asking the question?

  “Is there some kind of understanding between you and Miss Stoker?”

  Did Wendell have to answer that? He supposed no one could make him, but it made no sense to stir anything up. “No, not at this time.”

  Mr. Wells relaxed and leaned back. “I’m glad to hear that. I found her quite charming, and I’d hoped to take her out to dinner sometime this week.” He lifted his eyebrow, as if challenging Wendell to stop him.

  Without an understanding, there was nothing Wendell could say. “If she agrees to go, I hope you have a nice time.”

  “Thank you. And now, on to business.” Mr. Wells leaned forward again. “My employer is very pleased with the property adjoining the Circle C, and he’s decided that he’d like to expand the parcel. We want you to find out how much Mr. Clark still owes on the ranch and what it would take for him to lose it.”

  Wendell blinked. He couldn’t have heard correctly. “I beg your pardon?” he said at last.

  “We want to take over the Circle C, and we need your help.” Mr. Wells paused. “Well, truth be told, we don’t need your help, but it would certainly make things smoother and easier.”

  “I don’t know anything about the ranch. Maybe it’s already paid for—I have no way of knowing.”

  “But you have friends at the bank. You have connections. And when you get this information for us, you’ll receive another nice pay packet. You enjoyed the first one, didn’t you?”

  Wendell wished he’d never taken that money. It was still sitting in his safe—he hadn’t touched it—and it was almost as though he could feel it watching the back of his neck. “But the Clarks are good, hard-working people. They don’t deserve to have someone come in and snatch their home out from under them.”

  “It’s the cost of business, Mr. Thurgood,” Mr. Wells said, coming to his feet and smoothing down his coat. “I suggest you give it some thought. I’m prepared to make you a fairly wealthy man with relatively little work on your part. Think of what you could do with that kind of capital. You could own this town—well, the parts of it that my employer doesn’t want to own.” He laughed, but it didn’t sound humorous.

  “I don’t want any of it,” Wendell replied. He turned, opened the safe, and withdrew the envelope. “Here,” he said, tossing it on the desk. “I want out.”

  Mr. Wells looked down at the desk, then back up at Wendell. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I do.”

  Mr. Wells shook his head. “I’ll come back later this afternoon, Mr. Thurgood. You need a little bit of time to mull things over, get your priorities straight. I’m sure that you’ll feel much differently after you’ve calculated the pros and cons.” He pivoted on his booted heel and left, his coat flaring out behind him.

  Wendell sank into his chair and pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets. What on earth had he gotten himself into? This was bad … this was so bad …

  “You don’t look like a happy man.”

  He opened his eyes. “Aren’t angels supposed to know everything?”

  Miss Chapel sat down in the chair Mr. Wells had just vacated. “I don’t know who started that rumor, but no, we don’t know everything. We know what we’re supposed to, and that’s generally limited to our sphere of influence at the time. Why? What’s going on?”

  Wendell groaned and pressed his hands into his eyes again. “Mr. Wells is what’s going on.”

  “Oh, you found out, did you? I was going to try to break it to you gently—I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “You’re sorry that he’s a no-good scoundrel who wants to take the Clarks’ ranch?”

  “What? He is?” She looked shocked. “No, I mean, I’m sorry Ariadne thinks he’s the one who wrote your letters.”

  “She does?” Oh, could this day get any worse? “How … Just give me a moment, please.” Wendell stood up, put the money away, and sat back down, trying to understand. “She believes Mr. Wells has been writing her?”

  “Yes. I was in the tea shop just now and overheard her telling her sister. Except that she figured it out, and now she knows it was you, and she feels so terrible about the whole thing.”

  “She feels terrible that I was writing her, or she feels terrible for not knowing it was me?”

  Miss Chapel looked thoughtful. “Well, that’s the thing. I’m not entirely sure. But I’ll find out.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe it’s better if I spoke with her. It would be more straightforward.”

  “You’re right, and I’m not the best messenger if I’m missing things.” She paused. “Now, what do you mean, Mr. Wells wants to take the Clarks’ ranch?”

  Wendell told her everything that had happened, clear from the beginning, and Miss Chapel’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, dear. This is potentially catastrophic. What can you do?”

  “I don’t know. Do I have evidence that anything illegal is going on? No, I don’t. All I have is a gut feeling, and that might be my natural dislike of Mr. Wells because he wants to take Ariadne out to dinner. What if he’s just a shrewd businessman who goes about things differently than we’re used to seeing them done?”

  “And what if he’s a lying, cheating snake in the grass?” Miss Chapel got up and began to pace the room. “Either way, I think it’s best to distance yourself from him. He’s making you uncomfortable, and you’re not obligated to keep associating with him.”

  “You’re right. I am contracted to transfer those properties in six months, but that’s fairly simple, and I don’t need to have any other dealings with him until then.” Wendell felt better already just saying the words.

  “Exactly.” Miss Chapel swung back around. “You’re a good, decent man, Wendell Thurgood, and I know you’ll make the right choices in this regard. I’m even starting to gain some confidence in how you’re handling your relationship with Miss Stoker. I hope you don’t mind, but I popped in for a minute while you were hunting for butterflies. I didn’t stay long—most insects frighten me—but I was there long enough to see that you were both enjoying yourselves.”

 
; “It was really nice,” Wendell admitted. “She’s proving to be everything I thought she was.” He almost added that she was even prettier than he’d first believed, but changed his mind—he didn’t want to seem too enthusiastic. After all, she might be going out to dinner with Mr. Wells, and it wouldn’t do to get his hopes up too high.

  “Excellent. Keep up the good work. Oh, and I wouldn’t wait too long before seeing her again. If this Mr. Wells has set his cap for her, you don’t want to get lost in the shuffle while you’re trying to be patient and understanding.”

  Miss Chapel was right. It was one thing to give Ariadne the space she needed to decide her feelings, but it was another to fade into the background while another man, one who was definitely more of a catch, stepped forward. Wendell grabbed his hat and headed for the door. He’d just had his morning coffee, but somehow, he found himself craving tea.

  ***

  Ariadne couldn’t help the smile that crossed her face when Mr. Thurgood entered the tea shop. She’d been in a good mood all morning, fueled by the incredible experience she’d had with the butterflies the night before. It seemed magical, really, and she’d carried that magic around with her since she woke up.

  “Good morning,” she said as he entered. “Would you like some hot Earl Grey?”

  “Yes, please,” he responded, taking a seat. He glanced around. “It’s rather quiet in here this morning.”

  “Oh, you should have seen it ten minutes ago. It was nearly bursting.” She picked up a cup and saucer. “Thank you again for last night, Mr. Thurgood. I’d be interested to learn more about that species of butterfly, if you have any books on the subject. I’ve been thinking about them all morning.”

  “I do have some books,” he replied, looking pleased. “I can bring them over late this afternoon, if that suits you.”

  “I’d love it.” She arranged his tray, then brought it over. He picked up his cup, but paused, looking as though he’d like to say something else, so she waited.