Silver Belles and Stetsons

by Caroline Clemmons

  “Ma’am.”

  She raised her skirts a most proper two inches above the floor as she took the first step. Her shoes sounded all the way up… and he held Adaline’s gaze.

  Tonight, whether he liked it or not, he’d be surrounded with her scent, her linens, her essence.

  He’d be lucky to catch a wink.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor. I can sleep anywhere.” Anywhere but her bed.

  “Don’t be silly. You might as well be comfortable.” Adaline’s gaze warmed. He’d bet last month’s pay she thought of that kiss… and the one— or two— she owed him.

  Comfortable? Where everything smelled of vanilla and soft, capable woman?

  He cleared his throat, shook his addled brains into some semblance of order, and faced her. “You ready to hear ‘bout the neighbors?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I spoke with nine different families.” He rattled off names in order. “I’m astonished at the high esteem they hold for your family—” Realizing that had come out all wrong, he corrected. “Of course they esteem your family. I’m astonished at the plan they’ve put together, working on a solution, desperate to help you all. You’re adored here.”

  “What plan? What are they—”

  He held up a hand, cut her off. “I’m not gonna tell. They swore me to secrecy, but they’ll be comin’ by tomorrow, paying a visit. You’ll hear about it then.”

  “Mr. Malloy, do you suppose keeping secrets from me, now, is the best idea?”

  He knew better than to grin at a time like this. He fought to keep it buried. She was just so darn adorable.

  “Mister Malloy.”

  “You know I’ve only got the one name, right? It’s just Malloy. Haven’t we moved way past the part in a courtship where you gotta call me Mister?”

  Almost as if she disregarded her mother’s direct order to behave herself, Adaline strolled closer. “You’re withholding important information, so it seems, we’re not at a point where I might call you by your given name.”

  “Even though I’m courting you.” He couldn’t resist repeating himself. Sparks of light had flickered in her eyes the first time.

  “You’re joking. You just don’t like your Christian name. Go ahead. You can tell me what it is.”

  “I’m serious.” He didn’t much feel like smiling now. “If my parents actually named me Malloy, first name or last, I don’t know. But it’s all I got.” He watched her carefully, half-expecting the usual mix of pity and distrust. Neither bothered him much anymore, but with Adaline, it mattered.

  “Just Malloy, then.” She hadn’t glanced away, hadn’t launched into an apology for somethin’ she’d had no part in. Made him want to let her a little closer.

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, Malloy. You get to keep your secret, about the neighbors and their surprise.”

  He lost a bit more of his heart to her, right then. She didn’t seem to care, not one whit, that he hadn’t a clue who his people were or where he’d come from or so much as his father’s name.

  “Thanks, darlin’.”

  She strolled even closer. “Why are you surprised?”

  How could he not be? “’Cause every woman I ever told ‘bout havin’ just one name bombarded me with questions.”

  She halted, searched his gaze. “I’m… that’s interesting, Malloy, but I meant the neighbors. You said you were surprised by their plan to help.”

  “Well, yeah. Every customer in your shop sat there, flummoxed, heard what the banker said and did nothing.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “’Cause I was the only one who did something.”

  “You’re the only one who ran out of the building like it was on fire.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair.” But she had him smiling. Yeah, he’d been a fool to assume the worst. The Whipples’ neighbors loved them.

  Now she stood close enough to easily touch. He stuck his thumbs in his pockets to ensure he finished relaying all he needed to.

  “I’m sorry, darlin’.” And he was. Darn sorry. “I asked ‘bout anyone carrying payments to Denver City, asked ‘bout what might’ve been going on. No one had information.”

  “It’s okay.” She eased another half-step closer. “Thanks for going out in the weather. You did that just to be kind. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” Acutely aware her mother might be listening at the top of the stairs, or at the bottom, he glanced toward the shadows where she’d lurked and caught him just about to kiss Adaline, mere hours before.

  She chuckled. “I can hear her moving around her bedroom.”

  “She’s a wily one.”

  “Yes.”

  He ached to reach for her and probably would give in to temptation, right after he told her the worst of the news. “I checked at Western Union. Remember I wired Denver to ask a friend to look into Lockhart?”

  Her brows drew together.

  “I’m sorry, darlin’… Charles verified it. Sheridan Lockhart, per description, down to the slight limp in his left leg, does indeed work for First National.”

  “He limps? I didn’t notice.” Her shoulders slumped, just enough he couldn’t stand it.

  He reached for her. She stepped into his embrace and he tucked her in tight.

  Her touch felt… incredible. How long had it been since a woman touched him to offer comfort and companionship? He hadn’t known how desperately he needed to be touched, to be held, until that moment.

  He’d thought to console her, but she’d soothed and calmed him.

  How could he resist falling for her?

  “Does this mean it’s true?” she asked. “All of it?”

  “No. All it proves is employment. Charles paid First National’s Vice President a call and learned Lockhart appears to be a man the bank did send on official business.”

  “Your friend associates with bank management? Most opportune.”

  “Yeah. He made himself rich and fits in nice and tidy with the nouveau riche.” He smoothed a hand over her back, savoring her nearness. “I asked Charles to visit the bank first thing Monday morning to find out ‘bout your father’s loan. It’s the best I could do.”

  “You’ve already helped more than I could have imagined. Thank you.”

  He loved her simple gratitude and ease in voicing it.

  One more reason he loved her.

  “For you, I’ll do anything within my power.” Before Lockhart returned on Monday morning, expecting restitution, Malloy needed a solid picture of the bakery’s finances. A long night’s work waited on him.

  “Careful,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “promises like that might steal my heart.”

  He grinned, even as she slipped away and up the stairs.

  Chapter Five

  “The records are clean.” Malloy, freshly shaved and more handsome than ever, stood in a shaft of morning sunlight streaming through icy windowpanes.

  Malloy filled out Papa’s clothes in a way her father simply hadn’t.

  Ma had seen Malloy outside with the shovel, clearing deep snowdrifts. Without a word, she handed Adaline Papa’s shaving kit, towels, a new toothbrush and tin of tooth powder, and a stack of clothing: a clean shirt, trousers, suspenders, socks, and a Union suit. Malloy needed them, soaked as his own clothing was from shoveling the boardwalk out front and a path all the way to the outhouse.

  Mother had just given the highest sign of approval, welcoming Malloy to the family.

  He’d kissed her on the forehead, thanked her for the comforts of home, and at her invitation, disappeared into the washroom upstairs. He’d barely returned to the kitchen, apparently ready to discuss his findings.

  His boots, waterlogged as they were, sat near the fire to dry. His feet were too big for Papa’s shoes, so he wore two pairs of socks against the chill.

  Pleasure warmed Adaline clear through. Yes, he was a good man.

  The records are clean.

  Adal
ine paused between pouring two steaming cups of coffee.

  Surely this meant good news. The winter storm had broken near dawn, and maybe the storm surrounding the mortgage had broken, too.

  Filling the second cup, she then added two sugars and a splash of cream, the way he liked it, and passed it to him. “What does this mean?”

  Malloy sipped, seemed to gather his thoughts. “It means you won. I found nothing, not one scrap of information to explain why he signed for seven hundred dollars. Looking at the records, it’s impossible to believe he needed to.” Malloy grinned. “One kiss, due upon receipt.”

  A hulking shadow interrupted the stream of light through the windows, stealing Adaline’s attention. Ivan MacEwen, the blacksmith, whose shop adjoined the Livery across the street, approached the kitchen door.

  “I’ll pay you later,” she told Malloy as she opened the door, letting in frigid air and swirls of drifted snow. Ivan never visited— especially not by the kitchen door. “Come in, come in.”

  The blacksmith wore a knitted stocking cap pulled low over his ears. He unbuckled snowshoes that had spared his boots, stomped clinging snow free and entered.

  Adaline poured a cup of coffee for her neighbor. “Why did you trek twice as far to my back door?”

  “’Cause I can’t come to the front door, in plain sight of my wife. Everyone knows she can’t keep a secret.” He accepted the cup, blew on the surface, and sipped.

  Secret? The secret Malloy had refused to disclose last night? Something the neighbors had planned to help her family?

  Ivan glanced at Malloy before settling a guarded gaze on her. “Mind if I speak to him about this?”

  Her smile faded. This didn’t sound like good news. Surely not generous-hearted help from her neighbors.

  She glanced at Malloy then back to the neighbor she’d grown up with. “You’re asking me to leave the room?”

  “You don’t want to hear this.”

  Surely Malloy would defend her position. This was her father they talked about. Her life. Her problem. But Malloy remained silent.

  Ivan jerked his head toward the door. “Care to step outside, Malloy?”

  “Oh, no you don’t, Ivan MacEwen. I’ll remind you once. You and I have known each other all our lives. We’re the same age.” She smacked his upper arm with the flat of her hand. “Do not disrespect me. Whatever you have to say, say it. You honestly think I’ve not thought of every possibility?”

  True. She’d made lengthy lists of every possible reason Pa could’ve needed that obscene loan, not all of them altruistic or admirable. She’d prepared for the worst.

  Ivan looked to Malloy, seeking… permission?

  Impatience nearly boiled over in the moments before concession flickered on Ivan’s face.

  “I remember that day your pa went to Denver.” Ivan spoke softly, reminding her voices carry. “I know why he went. Your pa told me, himself.”

  As loose-lipped as Ivan’s wife Karen was, Ivan had proved just the opposite. Tell Ivan a secret and it stayed locked up. Especially in front of his wife.

  Ivan pinned Adaline with a hard gaze, hesitancy and pain lingering beneath the surface. “I wouldn’t be saying anything at all, but when Malloy came around asking, I got to thinking, and frankly, he needs to know.” He paused. Waited. “Adaline, you need to think long and hard, ‘bout the kind of reasons I’d want to tell Malloy instead of you. You sure you want to know?”

  Just as she’d done yesterday when presented with the mortgage— had it truly been only twenty-four hours?— she turned to Malloy. She needed his strength.

  Did she want to know?

  More importantly, could she afford to ignore the truth?

  No.

  Not with First National Bank demanding repayment.

  Malloy slipped his arm about her waist. His warmth, the solid strength in his big body offered support, helped her breathe. She’d get through this with him at her side.

  She listened, heard the soft murmur of Mama’s voice upstairs with the twins. From the sounds, playing a game of Halma.

  Malloy kissed her temple. “I’m right here, Adaline. I’ve got you.”

  She closed her eyes, concentrated on the warmth of his touch, the soothing sensation of his arm about her. How she loved him.

  As ready as she’d ever be, she looked to her neighbor for the truth. “Speak softly, Ivan, so Mama doesn’t overhear.”

  The blacksmith looked again to Malloy who must’ve given him a signal, for Ivan nodded. “Your pa asked me to keep an eye open, watch out quietly for your ma and you girls, in case it took him more than one day to return.”

  Dread shimmered in her stomach.

  Malloy’s arm anchored her, held her together so she wouldn’t break on impact.

  “Your pa,” Ivan said, pausing to draw a deep breath, “he went to Denver City, because a…” She’d never seen such agony on his face, not even when they were children.

  “What, Ivan? Spit it out. I can’t stand this.”

  “A woman summoned him.”

  What woman?

  “Summoned?” Ivan’s word choice evoked an illicit context. This woman could have been anyone… a cousin? A wife of an old friend, in need of help? “What do you mean, summoned?”

  Ivan flinched. Embarrassment showed plain as day on his bearded features. He shrugged, as if unable to find the words to explain.

  She wanted to argue, to rail against Ivan’s assumption. She knew Papa had loved Mother to distraction.

  Hadn’t he?

  Of course he had. Everyone knew that. Ivan knew that.

  Ivan finally spoke. “I thought it strange he didn’t want your mama to know anything about it. All I know is he heard from that woman, and he couldn’t get to Denver fast enough. I’d never seen him so excited about anything.”

  Ivan painted a damning picture.

  It seemed foolhardy to take Ivan’s word for it, but he’d been the one to hear Papa’s reasons, learn of it all first-hand. And Ivan, with more than nine months to ponder the situation, evidently believed Papa had answered a woman’s summons for illicit reasons.

  It might be true.

  Ivan’s word meant something. But was it reason enough to think ill of her late father?

  Out of nowhere, pain sliced through her, sharp, hot, and deep. Oh, God, she’d known, hadn’t she? At the top of her list, the possibility of infidelity.

  She fought to retain her composure. She would not, could not cry in front of Ivan, who’d tried to protect her, who’s wanted to put Malloy in the middle as a buffer.

  She nodded, masking all emotion. Holding Ivan’s gaze, she determined to hear the rest.

  Ivan scrubbed a thick hand over his bearded face as if disgusted. “A woman named Obedience Dymond.”

  He whispered the woman’s name, but she heard him as if he’d bellowed.

  The name meant nothing. In all her life, she’d never heard it before. Surely she’d remember.

  Regret dug deep trenches between his eyes. “She summoned your father, and he went.”

  ***

  Malloy’s gut roiled.

  He wanted to give Adaline’s father the benefit of the doubt. Just because Thaddeus had answered a lady’s call to visit didn’t automatically make him guilty of infidelity. Yeah, kinda suspicious, he’d admit. But Ivan and Adaline, who’d known Thad their entire lives, seemed to believe the worst.

  Blazes.

  Malloy had always believed a father owed it to his children to be faithful to their mother.

  What got into the heads of men who strayed? Risking home, hearth, family, the love of a wife… respect of his children, it all made no sense. How was a bit of skirt worth forfeiting everything of value?

  Malloy couldn’t speak, so he kissed Adaline’s temple.

  He cradled her close and ignored the urge to slam his fist into the nearest wall. She trembled and her teeth chattered.

  “Let’s warm you up, darlin’.” He pulled a chair close to the stove, s
eated her with care, and knelt at her side.

  Her sadness cut him to the quick.

  Ivan had shot Malloy a look saturated with misery as he’d ducked out the door.

  Better this way ‘cause she wouldn’t have wanted the blacksmith to see her pain. But she clung to Malloy, hiding nothing. He liked being the one she held onto.

  One thing was for damn certain. By the grace of God, if Adaline consented to marry him, he’d never answer another woman’s summons.

  He eased back to his haunches and gazed into luminous, round, emerald-hazels illuminated by golden sunlight. Once more, the desperation to hold on tight to this woman, to defend and protect surged anew.

  He found his voice. “I’m sorry, Adaline.”

  “No matter what happens, Mother must never hear of this.”

  “She won’t hear it from me.” A solemn promise he’d keep.

  This news, wretched though it was, might be the lead they’d searched for. Someone had to track down Obedience Dymond. With her name and the address found in Thaddeus’s day book, it shouldn’t be too hard… for someone in Denver.

  Adaline needed him right here.

  “I want to wire Charles once more, have him look into this.” He trailed a finger along her cheek. “Will you be okay if I’m gone less than half an hour?”

  She nodded. “Take your time going, but hurry back.” She tried to smile.

  “I’ll be back, fast as I can,” he promised. “You’re not in this alone.”

  ***

  Pastor Gilbert, what brings you out on this brisk morning?” Cold wind cut straight through Adaline’s many clothing layers before she pushed the door shut behind the minister.

  He smiled, broad and sincere. “Paying a holiday visit.”

  “I’m surprised to see you out after last night’s storm.”

  He chuckled. “Call me Santa Claus, then. When the time comes to deliver a gift, what’s a little snow?” He stomped off his boots, leaving most of the muck to melt in front of the door. Far more considerate than most visitors and customers.

  He pulled off his gloves and hat. “Call your sisters down, will you? Your mother, too, if she’s receiving guests. I’ve come to present a gift, and it’s for you all.” He patted his chest as if he’d tucked something inside his coat. No lumps showed, so whatever it was, it didn’t take up much space.