“I’m Van Donovan.”
The name flashed an image of a cocky, gangly boy older than her who got into scrapes at least once a week. She stared at his wide shoulders and long legs. From the minute she’d encounter this man there had been nothing cocky about him. He was all seriousness and business. What could change—He’d gone to jail for the robbery the day her father was killed.
Tessa shot out of the chair splashing coffee down her dress and across the floor. She grabbed Van’s arm and swung him around to look at her. “You were there the day my pa was shot.” She stared at Van Donovan. She’d forgotten about him. He’d been swept from her thoughts as quickly as he’d been hauled out of town after the trial. Being part of the gang, he’d know if her father had fallen into cahoots with the drifters. All these years she’d stuck up for Pa, she had to know her loyalty hadn’t been in vain.
“W-was,” she choked back the nerves. She had to know. But what if he told her what the judge had been saying all along? Could she live with the knowledge her father had been on the wrong side of the law? The unknown was worse than whatever the answer would be.
“Was my pa part of the gang?”
Van shook his head. “He was an innocent bystander.” He grasped her upper arms. “I didn’t fire a shot that day. I was just the lookout. Only, the deputy nabbed me before I could whistle a warning. Crane and Harper came charging out shooting their pistols like liquored up cowboys. Your pa was hit minding his own business.” His hands slid down her arms and hung loose at his side. “I’d give anything to live that month over.”
His remorse oozed from him like sap from a tree. He’d been a boy bent on causing his pa grief. Everyone in town knew Van did all the outrageous things he did to get his father’s attention. The man was hard as the steel rails he’d worked so hard to bring to this town.
Still, Van had participated in the unthinkable. The town’s people had called him a traitor, having helped the drifters take their hard-earned money. She spared Van a glance as memories of the events right after her father’s death raced through her mind. Her mother’s grief had consumed both of them for nearly a year and hung on just as sharp and unrelenting as Patch’s claws clung to a mouse. She couldn’t remember a happy day since her father’s death. Twelve years. That was a long time to live without the most basic of emotions.
Van wasn’t the only one to blame.
“Why does Judge Spencer insist my father was part of the gang? Did you tell him the truth?”
Van’s dark eyes reminded her of the sorrowful looking hound by the train depot.
“I told the judge, the sheriff, and anyone else who asked that your pa wasn’t a part of the gang. Honestly, I sat in my cell for years pondering why Crane picked me to help. All I can figure is he knew I’d be game for anything that would rile my father.” He stared into her eyes. “The whole thing just doesn’t feel right. And the judge mentioned the money was never found when I approached him about purchasing this building. In fact, he accused me of robbing another bank to have the money I did to pay for this.” Van’s face grew dark, and his brow furrowed as anger darkened his eyes.
“No one ever understood why he sentenced you to ten years for your part in the robbery. Even though many called you a traitor for helping those drifters take their money.” She glanced down at the coffee staining her skirt. “I need to change this and rinse it out.” She started toward the back room when a thought hit her and she faced Van. “Where are you staying?”
“Tonight, I’ll stay in a hotel, but after we clean
tomorrow…” He pointed up.
Her heart raced. If people found out they both lived in this building her reputation would be just as ruined as if she’d sauntered up the stairs in the saloon once.
“Don’t worry. If only you and I clean this place and work here, no one will know you stay in the back room. You can come and go out the back, wander a few doors down and then walk in the front door in the mornings, in the evening I doubt anyone will pay attention since the streets will be busier then.”
“What makes you think I’ll stay and work for you?” By all rights, she should take her things and beg Floyd for her job back rather than work for a man involved in her father’s death. She shuddered thinking of being pawed and handled in the saloon. This was a job that would help her earn back the respect of the women in town. She darted a glance at the handsome man watching her. This was an excellent opportunity. His offer was the best thing to happen to her since her father’s death. But she wasn’t about to let the man across the room know it.
“Give me a chance to make up to you for my past mistake.” The sincerity in his deep voice tugged at her feet like the strings on a marionette.
She pressed her feet firmly on the floor and drew her stance straight. “I’m only staying because I hated working in the saloon, and it will be easier to get a teaching job if I say I clerk in a boot shop rather than work in a saloon.”
His mouth tipped up on one side. “There aren’t too many mothers who would like their children being taught by an ex-saloon girl.”
“Exactly. That’s the only reason I’m taking your offer.” She spun toward the store room to change her dress and put a wall between them. She couldn’t let him know his remorse had softened her to his past or that looking at him made her heart race and her body heat. She needed this job, but how was she to work beside him every day and know he slept in the room above?
Chapter Four
Van walked into his shop carrying a plate piled high with food as Tessa stepped out of the backroom laden with pails, brooms, and cloths.
“You can’t start working on an empty stomach.” He balanced the tin plate on the stove top next to the brewing coffee and dug around in the crate for another plate. He couldn’t buy two meals without starting gossip, so he’d order one of everything he could think of and had it piled on one plate.
“I haven’t started my day with a meal in a long time.”
Tessa’s soft spoken response hit him like a kick in the knee cap. How long had it been since she’d had a decent meal?
“I won’t have you working without eating proper.” He pushed half the food onto his plate and offered the restaurant dish to Tessa.
She placed all the cleaning items on the floor and took the offered food, lowering her body onto the one chair. “Thank you.” She took a bite of hotcake. Her eyes closed and her wide lips tipped at the corners with just the slightest whisper of a smile.
How long had it been since she ate well? He’d remedy that. He’d make sure she ate three times a day.
He balanced his backside on the only crate he’d brought in and ate.
“Where did you want to start?” Tessa didn’t look at him, she kept eating.
Watching her enjoy the food, his chest squeezed with protectiveness.
“We’ll start down here. Once it’s clean, I’ll make a workbench and shelves while you clean the upstairs.”
She nodded, sighed, and leaned back in the chair. The plate in her lap appeared licked clean but for a scrap of hotcake. The cat sauntered out of the back, yowling in a demanding tone.
Tessa laughed. The lighthearted sound flowed over him like the sweet scent that filled his mother’s kitchen when she baked pies. Inviting, soothing, and mouth-watering.
“I saved you a morsel. Though why I feed you when you should be hungry to catch mice, I’ll never know.” She held the scrap down to the cat. The animal sniffed it over, nudged her hand twice, and finally nibbled it from her fingers.
“He doesn’t act all that hungry,” Van observed.
“She. Patch is a girl.” Tessa cast him a glance that said “how could you not know.”
“Sorry. She doesn’t act hungry.” He slid the last bite of fried potatoes in his mouth and couldn’t stop the sting of jealousy that sprouted watching Tessa stroke the cat’s head and back. He nearly arched his back like the cat hoping he’d feel Tessa’s gentle touch.
“It’s a good sign she’s not
hungry. It means she’s getting rid of the disgusting mice.” Tessa shivered.
Ahh, she didn’t like rodents. He tucked it away with all the other things he had noticed about the woman.
She stood and held out a hand.
Van looked at her hand and back into her face. “Yes?”
“Hand me the plate and fill the buckets so we can get to work.” She placed her still full coffee cup on the shelf behind the stove.
“Not until you take a moment to finish your coffee.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I prefer tea or warm milk.” Her eyes went dreamy. “I haven’t had milk, warm or otherwise, in so long I can’t remember what it tastes like.”
Her statement brought him back to the fact his actions had stolen her childhood from her. Guilt ascended as quick, suffocating, and mind-numbing as an avalanche of snow.
“I’ll get the water.” Van grabbed the pails and headed to the back room and back door. In the store room he stopped and scanned the area. They could easily partition off the far side for her quarters and still use the rest for storage and to allow him back door access to the privy and the water supply without disturbing her.
He stepped into the alley and scanned the area. Would it be safe for Tessa to come and go from this door? She’d been coming and going for who knew how long without a problem. He mentally smacked himself. If he smothered her with protectiveness she’d find somewhere else to stay. Propriety demanded he give her an advance and move her into a boarding house. But he couldn’t—no wouldn’t let her live alone. Watching her eat her breakfast, he knew she’d skimp on food and save her money if she had to spend it for a place to sleep. This way she could save more money, and he could put some meat on her bones.
The water barrel shared by his business and the saloon sat at the back corner of the Red Dog. He’d have to be sure and bring in water every morning and evening to keep Tessa from going anywhere near the saloon. There was no telling what the angry owner might do if he found her alone.
He pulled the lid off the barrel and dunked the buckets, filling them. From the amount of water in the container he’d better contact the water delivery business and ask them to bring more. Two businesses would now be using the supply.
The back door of the saloon shot open and the owner stumbled out. Van picked up the buckets.
“Hey! What you doin’ stealing my water?” The man stalked to within three feet of him.
“I’m not stealing your water. This barrel is for both buildings.” He nodded his head toward his shop.
“First you take my best saloon gal and now my water!”
The man swung a fist at Van. He dodged the blow and set the buckets down, sloshing water over the edge. When the man came at him again, Van grabbed an arm and yanked it behind the man’s back, a trick he’d witnessed used on unruly prisoners.
“Ouch! You son-a-bitch!” The man stopped struggling, but he spouted profanity.
Tessa ran out the back door of the shop and stopped. Hearing the howls and profanity of Floyd she’d feared for Van, but once she set foot in the alley, she discovered Van had the situation under control.
Floyd stabbed her with a vicious glare, and his lip turned up in a sneer. “I tried to bed you for half a year and this dandy offers you a better job and you fall into his bed.”
Anger shot through her body like a pitch fire. She stalked up to the man and slapped his unshaven cheek. The sound ricocheted through the empty alley in the early morning silence. Her hand stung, and she took satisfaction in the red welt the size of her palm appearing on his face.
“Why you little…OW!”
Van jerked Floyd’s arm so hard she heard a pop. “You don’t talk to her that way. And if I hear you spreading rumors, you’ll be nursing two sore arms.”
“You know I’m now working for Mr. Donovan in his shop. That’s why I’m here early, to help clean it up.” She stared at Van. The anger and hatred on his face stopped the air in her lungs, and she took a step back. Had going to prison hardened him more than most?
Van shoved Floyd toward the saloon’s storage room door. “That’s why I was filling the buckets. For us to start cleaning.” He leaned down, never taking his eyes off Floyd and poured water from one pail into the other and then removed the lid on the barrel, dipping the second pail. “Who delivers the water?” he asked, replacing the barrel lid.
“Martin Canter,” Floyd hissed through clenched teeth and clutched one arm to his chest.
“I’ll contact him today and ask him to bring more.” Van picked up both pails and motioned with his head to the back shop door. “Let’s get to work.”
Tessa nodded and hurried ahead of him, opening the door and hurrying through her room. She heard him stop and returned.
“Soon as the cleanings done and I’ve made the work benches, I’ll make a partition back here so you have privacy and no one snooping will see your things.” Van nodded to her carefully made pallet. She’d tucked away unmentionables and items she didn’t want him to see before she left the room earlier.
“I’d appreciate that, but I’ll only be here until February.” She walked into the larger room. She’d taken a broom to the ceiling, beams, and walls while Van went for water. The windows were next.
He set the pails on the floor and surveyed the room. “You work fast. Why are you only going to be here until February?”
“Idle hands are the devil’s work.” Tears burned at the back of her eyes. That had been her mother’s favorite phrase. One she made sure her daughter knew well and never became acquainted with the devil.
“February?” He grabbed the broom and started in a corner sweeping toward the front door.
She opened the door for the debris and the cloud of dust he created to escape. “In February I can take the exam to become a teacher.”
“You mentioned teaching last night. I thought you already had your certificate and waited for an opening.” He moved gracefully and worked the broom expertly for a man of his size.
“I’ll have to wait for an opening after taking the exam…” Something she hoped didn’t take too long.
“Then that’s all the more reason I should make the partition, you may need to work here until an opening comes up.” He smiled and swept the last of the dirt out the door.
She glanced at the well-oiled wood floor and the dirty windows. “Windows or floor?” she asked, placing a rag in his hand.
“Floor. And let’s leave the door open a while, I like the cool fresh air when I work.” Van shed his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his chambray shirt, and knelt by a pail.
Tessa picked up the other pail and applied her attention and elbow grease to the windows. She was sure he would have left her to clean while he ran errands, but here he was on his hands and knees scrubbing the floor. A job she had been sure was hers.
Tessa finished washing the insides of the windows and needed clean water to tackle the outside. She picked up the pail and started for the back room.
“Where’re you going?” Van stood and arched his back, stretching.
She stared. The top two buttons had worked loose. The way he stretched pulled his shirt open, revealing his neck and the ridge of his collar bone. Squinting, she noticed a sprinkling of dark hair. Staring at a man’s chest was as perverse as a man staring at her chest or legs.
“Where’re you going?” His deep voice rumbled into her thoughts.
Her cheeks flamed, and her breathing caught. She slid her gaze up to Van’s face half afraid her thoughts were etched across her forehead. He pointed to the pail in her hand and raised an eyebrow. Thank goodness, his preoccupation with the bucket had spared her.
“I need clean water to wash the outside of the windows.”
“I’ll get the water. I need fresh water, too.” He slipped his hand around the handle next to hers. His touch opened her fingers, and the weight of the pail slid from her grasp as her gaze locked with his. She couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move. Something about his nearness drew her li
ke the magnet her mother kept in her sewing basket to pick needles out of the deep grain of the old floor. She’d become lost in the depths of Van’s eyes just like the needles had nearly been lost.
“Well, isn’t this interesting, the robber and the accomplice’s daughter.”
Judge Spencer’s voice sliced through her chest like an axe through wood, crushing, splitting, and ripping her apart. Tessa jerked and staggered back before she caught her footing and realized Van had moved between the judge and her.
“I’m not a robber and Mr. Harrison wasn’t an accomplice. I told you that twelve years ago. Why have you made his family suffer when you know the truth?” The venom in Van’s voice matched the anger she’d witnessed earlier with Floyd. Fear he’d do something to end up back in jail, she grabbed his arm.
“It’s okay. You told me the truth, that’s all that matters.” She didn’t bother glancing at the man standing in the doorway. Her gaze locked onto Van’s. “Don’t let him rile you. It’s what he wants.” She knew by the tone the judge had used his visit had been to bait Van. Why?
Van bobbed his head once and patted the hand on his arm. “If you’re in need of a new pair of boots, judge, you’ll have to come back tomorrow when we have my inventory unpacked.” He eased away from her and turned the judge out the door, shutting it behind the sputtering man.
Van had a smile from ear to ear and the dimple in his chin deepened. “That felt good. How did you know he was baiting me?” He crossed the floor in three strides, retrieving the pails from the floor by her feet.
“He came to our house at least twice a year after my father’s death baiting us to tell him who all was in on the robbery and threatening to turn the town against us, which he did anyway.” She crossed her arms and rubbed her upper arms. “Why would he care who was in on the robbery? What would he gain?”
Van didn’t like the idea of him badgering the widow and her young daughter. The judge had always seemed slimy to him. Learning this new information confirmed his thoughts about the man. “I don’t know, but I plan to find out.” He placed both bucket handles in one hand and rested his palm on Tessa’s warm, slender shoulder. “Stay inside until I get back with the water.”
Silver Belles and Stetsons Page 53
