by Regina Scott
With Allegra a member of the Literary Society, Hart was a little concerned Beth might mention the progress on his courtship, but she was good throughout the meal, urging Georgie to tell Hart about his new kite, Gillian to reveal her role in the school theatrical, Clay to share his latest investment and Allegra to explain the projects the Literary Society was supporting. He’d dined with the family any number of times, but he’d never had them speak so freely about their activities. Perhaps his questions sounded too much like an interrogation. How effortlessly Beth made everyone feel valued and important.
Though Beth offered to help clear the table, Allegra shooed her away. So, Beth linked arms with Hart and drew him out onto the front porch. The night was cool. Lights sparkled in the city below, brighter than the starlight peeking through the clouds. It had rained earlier, and everything smelled clean.
The light from the parlor bathed her face and set her hair to glowing. He tried not to remember how it had felt in his fingers.
“Too dark for our race, I fear,” she said, turning from the view to face him. “How goes the investigation?”
He shrugged, not wanting to admit to the slow progress.
“Mr. Weinclef told me you were circulating drawings,” she said. “That was very clever of you.”
He fought the urge to preen. “Much good it did me. No one claims to have seen the men.”
“No one?” Her exasperation matched his. “Why not?”
Mindful of Gillian and her brother in the parlor just inside the open door, Hart lowered his voice. “That’s what I wondered. They may be newcomers, unknown to the rest of us, but they have to be staying somewhere in town to be able to intercept passengers from the ships so easily.”
She nodded. “Newcomers, of course. No one in Seattle would be so despicable. Yet they must be conducting some sort of business in town. They’ve been robbing people. Surely they’d want to spend their money.”
“So you would have thought. But I’ve checked everywhere men generally outlay cash, even the shadier places, and no one will admit to seeing them.”
She leaned against the porch rail. “They must be hoarding their ill-gotten gains like a dragon his loot. But even if they’re camping out and hunting for food, they’d have to replenish their ammunition. What did the laundresses say about bloody clothing?”
“All accounted for to my satisfaction. These men are invisible.”
She started and put a hand on his arm. “Hart! Not invisible. Someone must be sheltering them—getting them food, doing their laundry.”
She was quick. “If that’s the case, it will be all the harder to find them.”
“Not necessarily,” she argued. “There are only a half-dozen grocers in the city. We should ask each of them if anyone seems to be buying more than the amount of food needed for the number of people in that household.”
Hart eyed her. “Good idea. I’ll start tomorrow, which means you don’t have to.”
“Oh!” As if she realized her mistake, she held out her hands, wrists up. “You caught me, Deputy. I’m ready to go peaceably.”
Hart shook his head. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time, Miss Wallin. Leave the investigating to me.”
She laughed, but he couldn’t believe she’d give up so easily, promise or no. He almost expected to see her standing at the counter when he went to talk to Weinclef at Kelloggs’ the next day about people buying food.
The fastidious clerk put his long nose in the air. “We at Kelloggs’ do not indulge in gossip about our clients, Deputy.”
Hart affixed him with his best stare. “Talk.”
Weinclef flinched, then he leaned closer and lowered his voice. “One customer has been buying a lot more than usual, but perhaps he’s merely stocking his cellar. I heard he was courting.”
The store seemed to be growing darker. “Who?” he asked, afraid he knew the answer.
Weinclef’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Scout Rankin.”
Hart’s suspicions came flooding back. Scout’s place was plenty big enough to hide two men and a boy. He knew all about victimizing others. They had only his word that he’d earned his money on the gold fields. His partner Levi Wallin had returned poorer than when he’d left.
The evidence against him was mounting, with only one thing on his side.
He was Beth’s friend.
Even that might not have been enough to keep Hart off his trail if it hadn’t been for the fact that no new reports came in of newcomers being lured away and robbed, even though several more ships had docked. It was as if the gang had gone to ground or moved on.
He was considering the matter as he prowled around his cabin late Saturday night. He’d eaten dinner, including a slice of the strawberry pie that had been left at the office by another of Seattle’s eager ladies, and was pleased to find the usual end-of-the-week festivities quiet when he’d ridden down Mill Street. Now he noticed the book Beth had left him earlier in the week.
“The Complete Works of Vaughn Everard, Famed Poet and Duelist,” he read aloud from the cover page. Duelist, eh? Wonder who had put him in jail for the crime. He flipped to the first poem and started reading. Then he sat in the chair.
The sound of church bells ringing raised his head. Midnight? He should have ridden out an hour ago to check the town again. He closed the book and stared at it with new respect. How strange that the words of an aristocrat born nearly one hundred years ago would speak so strongly. It was as if the fellow had been sitting beside him, feet stretched to the fire. He seemed to understand how Hart felt, the hole that gaped inside him, the need to make things right, if not for himself then for others.
The words remained on his mind as he saddled Arno and headed down to the more boisterous parts of town where already raucous music played and voices rang out. Everard had written of a return to faith, a renewal of love. He’d obviously suffered loss. What had convinced him to try again? What had made him willing to risk the pain?
Beth’s face came immediately to mind, eyes bright and grin conspiratorial. She’d once claimed to care for Hart. What would it be like to accept her love, to give his in return?
The sky opened, and rain fell hard. Hart pulled up his collar and tugged down his hat. He didn’t need nature to confirm the feelings that shook him at the thought of letting Beth into his heart. He’d captured bandits, stopped vandals and settled disputes with hostile natives. Who would have thought the one thing to terrify him was the thought of loving a pretty woman named Beth Wallin?
Chapter Thirteen
The matter bothered Hart over the next few days. Fear was an old foe, one he’d thought he’d defeated. At times he’d feared for his life at the orphanage. Before he’d joined the gang, he’d feared he was destined to be alone. After he joined the gang, he’d feared he’d become hardened like Jake Cathcart, caring for no one but himself. In all circumstances, he’d fought the fear and found his way to the other side.
But he could see only two ways past his fear of loving Beth—drawing closer or pulling away, and neither was tenable.
He could only hope his concerns weren’t written on his face when Mrs. Wyckoff caught him outside the office on Friday.
“And how are you and Miss Wallin getting along?” she asked, pausing on the boardwalk beside Arno, her yellow skirts settling about her ankles.
“Fine,” Hart said, turning to check the cinch on Arno’s saddle. He’d tightened it himself not an hour ago, but she wouldn’t know that. So long as he kept himself busy, he might not give himself away.
“Mrs. Denny tells me you are to speak at the next women’s suffrage meeting,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were interested in community affairs.”
He checked the saddlebags as well. “Everyone ought to be interested in community affairs, ma’am. A bird knows to feather its own nest.”
“Indeed it does. But I feel as if you’ve changed, and I can’t help thinking it may have something to do with your association with Miss Wal
lin.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” Hart allowed.
“She is a wonder,” Mrs. Wyckoff mused. He heard a tapping sound. Her boot against the boardwalk?
“She’s already volunteered to help Mrs. Maynard stock the shelves of her reading room, gather donations for those affected by the windstorm, and start a program to help the mill workers learn to read and write. Louisa Denny hopes to convince her to join an amateur theatrical troupe, and Mrs. Dunbar intends to ask her to join the Ladies Sewing Circle. You’ve known her longer than I have, Deputy. Can she do all that?”
Hart smiled as he closed the flap on the saddlebag. “Very likely. She always was a bundle of energy.”
“But will she still have time to fulfill her obligation to you?”
Hart turned to face her. She was leaning forward, as if she’d been trying to catch a glimpse of his face, and her eyes were eager and bright.
“Beth Wallin is spending more time than she should on me,” he told her. “She thinks that highly of you and the other ladies in the Literary Society. If you aim to blame someone that I’m not hitched yet, blame me.”
Mrs. Wyckoff’s mouth twitched as she straightened. “No need for blame, Mr. McCormick. We knew this would be a difficult assignment. It seems Miss Wallin is making headway. I’ll ask her assessment of the situation.”
She sailed off down the street. He ought to feel relieved. Instead, once more, he felt as if danger was closing in.
“Best we find Beth before she does,” he murmured to Arno as he swung up into the saddle.
It took a little investigating, but he located her at the North School. A single story with an attic, the white block of a building had narrow windows and a narrow stoop, as if it held the knowledge gained there close. As he reined in at the door, Beth came out in a swish of pink skirts.
“Deputy McCormick,” she greeted him as if mindful of the faces crowding at the windows. “I just finished introducing Gillian’s class to the wonders of fashion. Were you scheduled to speak today too?”
Hart tipped his hat in the direction of the watching children. “I’ve had the pleasure of addressing both classes before. I came to speak to you.”
She approached Arno, stroked his long nose. “You’ve accepted an invitation, is that it?”
She sounded almost disappointed.
“No invitation,” he assured her. “I came to warn you. Mrs. Wyckoff wants a report on how I’m doing courting.”
“Oh.” She paused, and Arno bobbed his head to encourage her to keep rubbing. She smiled at him before raising her gaze to Hart’s. “I’ll tell her we have made great progress. It’s only the truth. You’ve considered a new home, improved your social standing. The foundation is laid.”
And it was up to him to build on it.
“She’s not going to let up on you, is she?” he asked.
Beth spread her hands, earning her a snort of protest from Arno. “I expected this to be a test. She wants to be certain I have what it takes to join the most prestigious women in Seattle. I am well aware I’d be the youngest. It’s a great honor.”
An honor he could cost her. Yet how could he take a wife? He wasn’t ready.
“I’ll talk to Allegra,” he said. “Maybe she can convince Mrs. Wyckoff to leave us be.”
“No need,” Beth said. “We’ll find you a bride, Hart. It’s just a matter of patience.”
He’d learned to be patient over the years, hunting criminals, searching for evidence. Outwitting this frontier matchmaker would take more than patience.
It would require the commitment of his heart.
* * *
Beth congratulated herself as she got ready for church that Sunday. All in all, it had been a productive week. She’d learned more about Mr. Schneider’s attackers, and Hart was on their trail. She’d contributed a few of her own ideas, which she had every hope might help him. She’d spoken with Ursula Wyckoff, who seemed satisfied with Hart’s progress. Even though he’d refused to look at any more houses, he had gone with her to the suffrage meeting and even agreed to share his thoughts. Surely some lady would embolden herself to make his acquaintance, perhaps even at services this morning.
She’d also talked Mrs. Dunbar out of pursuing Hart by emphasizing the dangers of his position. She felt a little guilty about that conversation, for the lady had turned teary-eyed. She should have known that a discussion about burying a husband would raise too many memories. Not that she thought Hart was in any danger of succumbing. In the ten years she’d known him, he had resolved any number of crimes and had never been shot in the process.
She’d also fended off another attempt by her family to bring her home. This time it had been John. They couldn’t have picked a better emissary. John was a favorite among her family, perhaps because he most resembled their mother with his auburn hair and forest-green eyes. He was also the most reasonable and understanding, making her feel a little guilty about arguing with him.
“You know I have the utmost respect for the ladies of the Literary Society,” he said as he and Beth stood on the Howard porch and he delivered the books she had requested Simon send. “They helped fund the library at Wallin Landing. But surely whatever cause they’re supporting now doesn’t take all your time.”
“Enough,” she told him, fingering the worn leather covers of the books. “And I’m helping Scout as well.”
John’s smile was commiserating. “You’re a good friend, Beth. But Scout’s a grown man. He’s been to the gold fields and back. He can take care of himself.”
Beth shoved the books onto the porch rail. “And I can’t?”
He spread his hands. “It’s more a case of we can’t. Without you, Wallin Landing is a mess.”
Her stomach knotted. “Oh, no! What’s happened?”
His answers were vague and did nothing to still her rising concern. Finally, he hung his head. “It’s Dottie,” he confessed. “She’s never been through a Wallin Easter. She’s not prepared for all the traditions. You’ll know how to help her feel more at ease.”
Figure on John to focus on his wife. The two had married less than a year ago, after Beth had brought the mail-order bride to Seattle. They were devoted to each other and Dottie’s toddler, as Beth had known they would be.
“Callie’s new too,” Beth reminded him. “And they’re both smart. If you and Levi explain things to them, I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
John rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe. But you’re so much better at this. When you’re home, we can just leave things to you.”
“Then perhaps it’s a good thing I’m not home,” Beth told him. “You were becoming entirely too dependent. Now, tell me how things are really going.”
She’d been able to draw from him a full report of how plans were progressing for Easter. It didn’t sound like such a mess to her. Just in case anyone needed her advice, she sent a list of reminders home with him.
The one task she had been unable to accomplish was to talk to Scout about Mrs. Jamison. It wasn’t generally proper for a lady to visit a bachelor at home, but this was Scout! She’d stopped by several times, but no one had answered her knocks. And she hadn’t been able to locate him in town either.
She mentioned the matter to Hart as he walked with her to church that morning. Allegra and Clay were just ahead, holding hands in such an endearing manner that Beth could only sigh at the sweetness of it. Gillian and Georgie were even farther in front, obviously hoping to reach the churchyard in time to meet friends before services.
“Odd,” Hart said, gaze going off to the town spread below. “The gang seems to have disappeared as well.”
Beth gasped. “You don’t think they took Scout, do you?”
The dark look he shot her told her everything. “Hart McCormick! Don’t you dare assume Scout is involved. He’d never harm anyone.”
“I want to believe that,” he said slowly with a grimace, “but he was an accessory to his father’s crimes.”
“That was a lo
ng time ago,” Beth said primly. “And Scout only did that under duress. His father beat him if he didn’t comply. That’s how he got that broken nose, you know. He wouldn’t let Drew’s wife, Catherine, treat it even though she’s a trained nurse. He was so afraid of how his father would react.”
Hart said nothing, and Beth glanced over at him. Both hands had tightened at his sides. The tailors had finished his new coat, and the gray fabric did indeed bring out the depth of his eyes. The look in them made her catch her breath.
“You didn’t know. I’m sorry, Hart, but it’s true. Scout was as much a victim as the men his father made him lure in. He wouldn’t be involved with the gang. He couldn’t.”
He nodded. “I hope you’re right. It seemed to me he’d changed. And Mrs. Jamison certainly finds him a gentleman worth pursuing.”
Now it was Beth’s turn to scowl. “That’s what I’d like to discuss with him.” She stopped at the edge of the churchyard where she’d hoped to waylay Scout. Several other men were loitering just outside the gates, as if waiting until the last minute to meet with their Creator. A few cast her glances. One went so far as to wink. Beth put her back to them.
Just then she spotted the yellow carriage coming up the hill. She waved to Scout as he reined in. Tying his horses, he approached with a smile. The tailors had been busy, for they’d also finished the navy wool suit she’d picked out for him. Both the color and the styling made him look polished, confident. She hated to darken his mood, but he needed to understand the situation before Mrs. Jamison convinced him to do something he would later regret.
“Scout, I must speak with you,” she said, taking his arm. Hart moved a little away from them as if to give them privacy.
“What’s wrong?” Scout asked with a frown. “Has something happened to Levi or the rest of your family?’
“No, but I fear something will happen to you. What possessed you to start pursuing Mrs. Jamison?”
Color flashed into his narrow cheeks, making his scar stand out. “Why shouldn’t I pursue her? She’s beautiful, and sweet, and kind, and she’s all alone in the world, like me.”
