“You’re such a good brother.” She patted Thomas’s knee.
That settled, Stephen helped Cynthia, then her, from the buggy. Almost before her feet touched the ground, a distant voice carried to her ears.
“Stephen! Emma!”
As Cynthia dragged Thomas toward the rear of the building, Hester Blakely hurried toward them, waving.
Stephen stiffened. “Hasn’t she done enough?”
“Pardon?” His mumbled words almost escaped her. Almost. “You’re not blaming Hester, are you?” Could she fault him? Hester had long been prone toward gossip, and despite her having curbed that habit in recent years, it still reared its head at times—like yesterday.
“Stephen, she didn’t act out of malice. She’s happy for us. And keep in mind, Hester wouldn’t have known if Cynthia and Janie hadn’t told her first.” Emma had reminded herself of these very facts in the past day.
His jaw tightened, but he drew her closer. “I didn’t come to town to see Hester. In fact”—he glanced back to where Thomas and Cynthia had gone—“I was hoping to have you all to myself for a few moments.”
A delicious warmth spread through her. There’d been few enough solitary moments with Stephen, given her parents always stayed close or sent Thomas and Cynthia on outings with them.
“I’ll shoo her quickly. I promise.”
Hester scurried into the churchyard, breathless, and gave Emma a peck on the cheek. “Hello! I was playing piano in our front room when you drove past, so I just had to come and give you my greetings.” The willowy young woman gulped a breath. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you both. I always thought you two might end up together. How are the sweethearts today?”
The torrent of words stopped as quickly as it began.
As Emma attempted to answer, Stephen pressed in. “We’re in a bit of a fix, thanks to you.”
Emma laid a staying hand on his arm. “When you shared our news with the church yesterday, Stephen hadn’t asked Papa yet.”
Hester stared, a stunned half smile on her lips, then she doubled over, cackling. “Oh, stop teasing.”
Stephen released a disgusted snort, and Hester sobered.
“Oh my. You’re not teasing.”
“I wish we were,” Emma whispered.
“Ooooh, what trouble I must’ve caused.”
“You could say that,” Stephen grumbled.
“I am so sorry.” She cupped one hand against her cheek. “Forgive me.”
From the back side of the building, Cynthia loosed a startled yelp. “Emma!”
Emma spun, heart pounding at the panic in her sister’s voice.
Stephen darted past. “I’ll check on her.”
She stared at the back corner as Stephen hurried down the building’s length. “I should probably go too.”
“You’re not angry with me, are you?”
Torn between her sister’s needs and her best friend’s, Emma watched Stephen round the corner and listened for a further call before she faced Hester. “I’m not angry. Truly. But I should go check—”
“You’re not angry, but …?” Her friend cringed as she interrupted.
Emma sighed. One problem at a time. “But I was hurt, especially given the circumstances. I do wish you weren’t always so quick to share the latest news. I would’ve been giddy with delight to have had the chance to tell people of our engagement myself.”
Hester’s shoulders slumped, and her brown eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh Emma. I am the most selfish woman in the world. I’ve been stealing your thunder forever, haven’t I?”
Emma had long ago accepted Hester’s ways, and she’d learned to forgive quickly. “Not to worry. I told you—I’m not angry.”
“I’m angry enough with myself for both of us.” Hester hesitated. “How is your father taking all this?”
“He’s upset—understandably.” Emma glanced again toward the back corner of the church, but all seemed quiet. Stephen must have handled the issue.
“He will allow you to marry, won’t he?” Hester dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief as Emma faced her.
“I hope so. His stubbornness is ruling him right now. However, I trust God will turn his—”
“Excuse me, ladies.” From the direction of the street, a lean stranger wearing a western-style hat turned a fine buckskin horse their way. He drew to a halt and dismounted, giving them a pleasant nod. “I’m new about these parts,” he drawled in a smooth, inviting voice. “Might I trouble you for some information?”
Hester’s tears seemingly forgotten, she turned a demure smile on the ruggedly handsome gentleman. So like the flighty, flirty girl. Present her with an attractive face, particularly if paired with blond hair like his, and nothing would break her focus.
He was rather dashing, in a roguish way. If she weren’t pledged to marry Stephen, his strong jawline and intense green eyes might have turned Emma’s head as well.
“Welcome to Mount Pleasant. I’m Miss Hester Blakely.” Hester emphasized the title. “And this is Miss Emma Draycott. How might we help you, Mister …?”
“Miss Blakely, Miss Draycott.” The man touched his hat brim. “It’s an honor. The name’s Clay Timmons. I’m sorry for intruding. Could you tell me where I might find a room to rent?”
“Sally Mills runs a boardinghouse near the center of town.” Emma rushed to volunteer the information before Hester could, though why, she wasn’t sure.
Mr. Timmons turned her way. “And how far is that?”
Hester edged closer. “Mrs. Mills took on that new boarder recently, but there is the Mount Pleasant Hotel.” She gave him a hopeful look.
“No!” Emma shook her head. “I’ve heard the hotel has had issues with bedbugs.”
He cringed. “Thank you for that warning. Are there any other options?”
Emma’s thoughts flashed to one, but she dared not risk the suggestion without checking first. “Not that I’m aware of.”
A wry smile lit Mr. Timmons’s face, and his eyes danced. “Then I might just be bunking with my horse tonight.”
Where in heaven’s name was he from to develop such an accent?
Heat flooded her cheeks at her intrusive thoughts, and she fought to shove her contemplations back in line. “I’m … sorry. I suppose our town isn’t quite as advanced as we’d like to think if that’s all we have to offer.”
“Oh, Rio and I are old bunkmates, so that’s no issue—and Mount Pleasant looks”—he glanced at the church, then down the street, and finally shifted his attention back to her—“right pleasant.” At his grin, her stomach flip-flopped. “Far better than some places I’ve visited.”
“Then you’re a well-traveled man, I take it?” Hester shoved her way back into the conversation. “Will you be staying long?”
“I’ve seen a fair bit of the country, miss. And how long depends on how quick I wrap up my business. Again, I apologize for interrupting.” He focused on Emma. “If you wouldn’t mind pointing me in the direction of the boardinghouse, I’ll let you pick up where you left off.”
Emma smiled far too friendly of a grin. “Of course. Follow this road straight into the heart of town. You’ll see it on your left about two blocks down. Look for the white picket fence around the two-story brick home. The one with three attic dormers.”
“Thank you kindly.” He again tipped his hat, then walked to his buckskin and swung into the saddle. “Good day, ladies.”
Hester slid her arm into Emma’s and, waiting until Mr. Timmons was out of earshot, inclined her head close. “That is one handsome man,” she whispered.
Emma’s cheeks warmed. “I didn’t notice.”
A sharp elbow jabbed her side. “Yes, you did.”
Emma bit her lip. Yes, she did … and the sooner she forgot the gallant gentleman, the better.
“Who was that?” Stephen called from behind them.
She faced him with a smile. “Is Cynthia all right?”
Stephen sobered. “She’s quite upset.
The kittens have all died.”
“Oh no.” She started toward the back of the building. “I should talk to her.”
Stephen caught her arm. “She’s not back there. I gave them some money and asked Thomas to take her into town to buy something, get her mind off her discovery.”
“You what?”
“I said, I sent them—”
“I heard you.” She fought not to react too harshly. “Stephen, the whole point in them coming was so we’d stay together.” She scrambled into the nearby buggy, then called to her friend. “Hester, I’m sorry—we have to go.”
When Stephen didn’t move, she cocked her head in his direction. “Come. Please. Drive me into town. We must find them.”
Sparkling blue eyes. Beautiful smile. She was a good-looker, that Miss Draycott. Clay scanned the street as he rode. Not that her friend, Miss Blakely, wasn’t. They were both attractive, but Miss Draycott had—what was the quality he was trying to name?
He stifled a snort. “What’s it matter, Rio?” He patted the buckskin’s neck, and the horse swiveled an ear toward him. “Not like I’ll see her again, anyhow.”
“I want to go home.” A girl’s plaintive voice drew his attention down the street to his right.
“We can’t.” A blond young man, more grown than not, pulled a younger, dark-haired girl from an alley to cross the street. “This’ll help take your mind off it.”
“No.” The girl dug in her heels and pulled free of the boy’s grip. “I want to go back to the buggy. I want—” Her last word garbled—her ma, maybe?
A chill raked down his neck, and his mind shot backward fifteen years. Before the memory could root, he shook it away—something he’d practiced many times.
“Come on,” the boy pleaded.
Should he intervene? Out west, that answer would’ve been easy. But he wasn’t out west. He was in Ohio, and he was a stranger in town. How would the locals feel about him shoving his way into a matter that didn’t concern him? Then again, if the girl was in some kind of trouble, how would they feel if he didn’t? Could he live with himself if something happened?
Clay angled Rio onto the intersecting street toward the pair. “Howdy.” He touched his hat brim in greeting. “Everything all right?”
Both stared up at him as he leaned on his saddle horn.
“Yes, sir.” The boy nodded.
He pinned his focus on the girl. “Is there a problem, little lady?”
She stood wide-eyed and silent.
When she didn’t answer, he tried a different tack. “Where ya’ll headed?” Clay kept his tone conversational.
“I’m trying to get my sister to Melcher’s Emporium and out of the cold.”
Sister. That was a step in the right direction. Was this simply a spat between family members? He looked to the girl, then back to the young man. “Don’t sound to me like she wants to go.”
“No, sir,” the girl burst in, her light eyes sorrowful. “I want to find my sister and go home.”
The boy turned. “You know we can’t, Cynthia. Not right now.”
Another chill raced down his spine. Once upon a time, he’d chided his own sister with almost those exact words. Things hadn’t ended well that day. How differently would things have turned out if someone had intervened in his troubles?
Clay dismounted and stepped closer to the kids, giving them both a good look. They were well-dressed, clean, with their hair neat. Hardly the neglected and unhealthy street urchin he’d been. Quite the opposite. Yet his gut said something was off-kilter. “Is everything all right at home?”
The young man seemed to size Clay up, mildly distrustful. “There’s no trouble, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” He waited, hoping the boy would offer more. He didn’t. “Look, son, I’m not tryin’ to be nosy, but when I see a couple kids, one obviously upset, talking about wanting to go home and not being able to, it’s concerning.” Haunting, even. “I’ll ask again. Are you two all right?”
The young man relaxed, and red stained his cheeks. “We’re fine. Thank you.”
If he was going to get to the bottom of things here, he’d do it through the girl. He smiled in her direction. “Your name’s Cynthia?”
“Yes, sir.”
“My name’s Clay Timmons. What’s got you upset?”
“I said we’re fine, sir.” The young man attempted to position himself between Clay and the girl.
Clay speared him with a stern glance. “Seems to me, you’re fine and she’s not. I want to know why.”
Cynthia stepped sideways, her pretty features twisting as her chin quivered. “The kittens all died.”
“Kittens?”
“Yes, sir.” She gulped a breath and squared her shoulders, seeming to tame her emotions a bit. “My parents sent us to town with my sister and her beau.” She shrugged. “You know—chaperoning the courting couple? So while we were here, I asked to look for the new litter of kittens hidden behind the church. But they’re all dead.”
Clay shoved his hat back on his head. The story sounded reasonable enough, but—“What happened to ’em?”
She shook her head.
As her brother drew a breath to speak, Clay held up a hand to quiet him. “I asked your sister.”
The boy clamped his mouth shut, befuddled.
Clay cocked his head to see the girl’s face. “Did they die of cold?”
“No, sir.” A body-wrenching shudder gripped her. “The one I picked up had a broken neck.”
Then some animal had likely gotten to them. “I’m sorry, darlin’. These things happen sometimes.”
“I wanted to take them home and bury them properly, but my sister’s beau didn’t have anything to put them in.”
“You say they’re at the church?”
She nodded.
“The Methodist church?”
“Yes, sir. Just down that way.” She nodded in the direction he’d come. “Under the bush at the back corner.”
The weight in his chest diminished. This he could handle. “Would it ease your heart some if I make sure those kittens get a proper burial?”
Miss Cynthia looked him square in the eye. “You … you would do that?”
“Be glad to.”
For the first time since he’d stopped them, the girl smiled. “Thank you so much, Mister Timmons.”
“You’re welcome, little lady.” He returned the grin. “Now, since y’all were headed toward the store, may I come along and find what I need to take care of that sad business?”
“Follow me.” Cynthia started toward the narrow alley across the street but, looking at Clay’s horse, shot off down the walkway to the main street. She acted far perkier than she’d been a moment before.
Her brother wobbled a grin at Clay. “Thank you, sir. You don’t know how happy you’ve made her.”
“Glad to lend a hand.” Happier still to know there was no lurking threat.
“C’mon, you two!” Cynthia called from the corner.
Chuckling, Clay tugged Rio into motion.
“I’m Thomas Draycott.”
“Draycott?” Now it all made sense—them being at the church, being in town to chaperone a courting couple … “Any chance you’ve a sister named Emma?”
“You know her?”
“I just asked a couple of ladies for directions to the boardinghouse. One of ’em was introduced as Miss Emma Draycott.”
Thomas nodded. “She’s our older sister.”
Wistfulness filled his chest as he flashed a glance from Thomas to Cynthia. “Sounds like a real nice family.” A lot like the one he’d had long ago.
They rounded the corner where Cynthia waited, and the girl scurried on ahead to the large storefront one door down. Behind its large plateglass window sat an extravagant display—a well-appointed table covered in a lacy cloth, a fine silver tea set gracing its top.
“Where are you from, Mr. Timmons?” Thomas stopped in front of the window. “If t
hat’s not too forward of me to ask.”
“Almost easier to say where I’m not from.”
“I don’t understand.”
Clay shrugged. “Let’s see. I’ve lived in Texas, St. Joseph, Missouri, up and down the Pony Express route—”
Thomas’s eyes rounded. “You rode for the Pony Express?”
“I did.”
He tied Rio as Cynthia waited beside the door.
“You must be joshing.”
“It’s the honest truth. Check the brand.” He hooked a thumb toward the XP emblazoned on his horse’s haunch. Thomas stepped nearer to inspect the mark. “Rio was just a colt then, born to one of the best horses in the whole operation. When word came that the express was shutting down, I asked to take him as my last month’s pay instead of money.”
“My father is fascinated with the Pony Express. I wasn’t but a few months old when they stopped operating, but his attraction has rubbed off. I’d love to hear some of your stories.”
“A few months old …” Awkwardness filled Clay’s chest. “Now I feel pert near ancient.”
The boy’s jaw cracked open. “Oh. I didn’t mean—”
“I’m teasin’, kid.” He slapped Thomas’s shoulder. “I got plenty of stories, but I gotta take care of my promise to your sister.”
Relief bloomed in the boy’s smile. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“You too, young man.” Clay stepped toward the door and swept it open, giving Cynthia a stately bow. “And you, Miss Cynthia. A real pleasure.”
The girl curtsied, then breezed through the doorway. He followed, taking in the grand store with its upscale offerings. Hardly a place he’d shop. He considered leaving to ask for a sack and a shovel at the livery instead but thought better of it. Worst they could do was tell him no.
He secured a cast-off flour sack from the young woman behind the counter, and upon hearing his business, the store owner lent him a shovel, asking it be returned before closing time. Armed with the proper tools, Clay bid farewell to the Draycott kids, then mounted Rio and turned toward the church.
The yard was empty. Miss Draycott and Miss Blakely were nowhere to be seen. Disappointment nagged at him. He told himself it was for no other reason than the desire to share with Miss Draycott that her younger brother and sister were pleasant and kind. But then, he was lying to himself. Far more than praising the younger Draycotts, he’d hoped to catch another glimpse of their elder sister’s sparkling blue eyes.
The Scarlet Pen Page 2
