"I am Frau Trebelhorn. My husband and I own this hotel together. Why are you here?" She lost none of her starch, but her voice became less sharp and demanding.
"I am in pursuit of persons suspected of robbery," he said, sounding official. "One of them broke in and accosted Mr. Travers and Miss Smith. Fortunately Mr. Lachlan and I saw him enter and were able to prevent him from harming them."
Puffing up like a broody hen whose nest was being robbed, Frau Trebelhorn stood her ground. "That may be, but we will soon have many people coming for their supper. Abner, you will get back to work. Calista, you will help Abner, since he has not been working as he should. You men, take yourselves off. You have no business in my kitchen."
Abner stood and started toward the range, but his steps faltered. He would have fallen if Merlin hadn't caught him. "This man is in no shape to work. He's injured. You'll have to get someone else to cook tonight."
"How inconvenient, but I suppose it is necessary. He certainly does not appear at his full strength. Calista, you will take his place." She stepped back and let the doors swing shut.
"Abner?" Callie cried, "I can't cook like you can."
"Never you mind, girl. I'll set right here and tell you want to do. 'Tween us, we'll get the job done."
Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself to her feet. "I hope so. I really hope so."
"I'll help," Merlin said. "Just tell me what to do."
"You better hadn't," Abner told him. "Frau Trebelhorn, she don't like no folks in her kitchen don't belong here. We'll manage. First thing is to get them taters on to cook. Maybe before you go, you could bring in about fifteen pounds. They're in a gunny sack back in the storeroom. Right outside Miz Callie's room. Whilst they's doin' that, Miz Callie, you set to cuttin' up meat. If we work fast, we can get a stew goin'. Just take the good tender part of that haunch. There's no time to cook slow."
She picked up the butcher knife, but stopped before leaving the kitchen. "How will I know what's the tender part? I don't know anything about cutting meat."
Merlin took the knife from her hand. "I do. How much do you need, Abner?"
"Five pounds oughta do it. Not many folks come for supper on Tuesdays."
With Abner's advice, Callie managed to get the stew put together. She cooked the beans that had been soaking overnight, fried up a big skillet of potatoes and onions and mixed a batch of cornbread. By the dinner hour, she was so tired she was stumbling. Her day had begun sixteen hours earlier. In between she'd baked fifteen loaves of bread, six pies, had her throat nearly cut and been scared half to death.
Since Monday and Tuesday were slow days, Abner's duties included washing the dining room dishes along with the pots and pans. He was in no shape to stand at the sink, so she told him he could sit at the table and dry. "I've never liked that part of the job," she said, not quite truthfully, "but I don't mind washing."
"Uh-huh, I reckon," he said with a wink. "I won't argue though. Still a mite shaky on my pins."
The clock was striking ten when they finished wiping down the work tables. Callie's feet were so tired she was stumbling, and Abner's dark face had an ashen look to it. When Merlin tapped on the storeroom door, she greeted him with relief. "Can you walk Abner home? I don't think he should be alone. He's still a little weak."
"That's what I came for, But first, can you come in here? Abner, I'll be just a few minutes."
She gave one last look at the kitchen, just to make sure there was nothing for Frau Trebelhorn to complain about. All looked neat and tidy, so she slipped through the door.
And was caught in two strong arms, pulled against a hard body. "Eeep!"
"Shh. Just let me hold you." he leaned his forehead against hers, but kept his eyes closed. "I swear to God, Cal, I've never been so scared in my life. We walked in because Mick wanted to talk to you, and the first thing we saw was the backside of that son of a bitch. Good thing we didn't call out. He could have thought we were the law and killed you."
"I didn't even hear you come in."
"He was making just enough noise." With one hand, he cupped her chin. "Cal, I... I've just got to do this." Before she could think, before she could blink, he tilted his head sideways and covered her lips with his.
She'd often admired his mouth, the way it smiled so wide and the way it quirked at one side when he was amused but didn't want to laugh. She'd even let herself dream a little about what it might feel like. No one had ever kissed her on the mouth, but she'd seen others do it. There was something so...so personal about it. You had to like someone a whole lot to want to put your mouth right on theirs.
Something prodded at her lips, something wet. When she realized it was his tongue, she almost pulled away.
"Open," he murmured. "I want to taste you."
"But--"
It was enough. His tongue slicked along her lower lip, tickling, soothing, sending little tingles of sensation all over her body. It curled inside, just the tip, and probed against her bottom teeth.
Did he want her to open her jaws? Was this how men kissed women?
"No." It was just how bad men kissed bad women. She'd seen them, the girls in the saloons and the ones from the house with the blue door. "I'm not a--" She couldn't say the word. "I'm a decent woman, Merlin. Let me go."
He raised his head, but his arms kept her tight against him. "I know, Cal. Great God, I never doubted it a minute. But it was just a kiss. I wasn't asking for more."
"It was more than a kiss," she whispered. It had to be more, for a kiss wouldn't have made her feel all hot and loose, and...and throbbing, in her woman's parts.
His eye gleamed in the shadows as he looked at her. He wasn't more than a couple of inches taller, so they were almost eye-to-eye. After a bit, his mouth got that little quirk in the corner. "I guess it was. But that's because I've got feelings for you. Feelings I've never had for a woman before."
His arms loosened their hold and he stepped back. "I reckon we need to think about this for a while. You're worn out and I shouldn't have taken advantage of it."
He kissed the tip of her nose. "Sleep well. I'll see you tomorrow."
She didn't move for a long time after he let himself and Abner out the back door. Her lips still tingled, and the heat in her lower belly still smoldered. Eventually she went to the door and threw the bolt. In less than five hours she'd be back in the kitchen. If she didn't get some rest, she'd be worthless.
When she went into her cubby and saw the mess the bad man had made, she had to work hard to hold back tears. Wearily she kicked strips of comfort, shreds of pillowcase, and globs of mattress stuffing under the bed. At least her coat was still in one piece. She fetched it from the nail beside the back door and wrapped herself in it. The ropes that served as springs made a miserable bed, but she was so tired. So very tired.
Cold feet and bad dreams kept her from resting. The dreams were filled with knives and guns and faceless men asking her where the money was.
* * * *
Merlin gave himself a good talking to as he walked to the livery stable. What had he been thinking, kissing Cal like he had. She wasn't like Felice.
Well, in a way she was, because Felice hadn't been a whore. She took money from her lovers but gave so much more in return. Hadn't she taught him there was more to having a woman than satisfying his urges?
Cal was lucky. She had a skill that would support her and she wouldn't have to sell herself. She'd said her father had apprenticed her to a baker. Was there a shred of decency in Lemuel Smith, despite Merlin's impression of a man who had only his own interests at heart?
Gawain complained at being saddled in the middle of the night, and Merlin had to be stern with him. Once he got the horse aimed toward home, he resumed his cogitation. That woman at the hotel--Frau Something-or-Other--wasn't going to be happy when she saw the mess Tom Powell had made. Too bad he'd died. Now the woman had only Abner and Cal to blame for the mess. He was pretty sure she'd make it their fault. He'd met others like her.
Instead of pulling off his boots, he stared at the fire. He wanted Callie. Wanted to see her without those ugly dresses she wore. Wanted to put his hands on her body, his mouth on hers, his doowhacker inside her.
At the last thought, he chuckled aloud. How Felice had laughed the first time he'd said "doowhacker".
"Well, what should I call it?" he said, looking down to see it hanging limp between his legs. She'd plumb wore him out.
"There are many names, mon amour." She named half a dozen.
"Tarnation, Felice, I'm not using any of those. They're... Well, they're just plain crude."
"Ah, mon petite, such an innocent. Most men would not think twice about using such words, or worse."
"Yes, well, I am not most men. I was raised to be a gentleman. Maybe it didn't all take, but the part about not cussin' around a lady did."
"Those are not cuss words."
"They are to me."
He still mourned Felice. She was a good woman, despite her profession. She'd been kind to him, teaching him more than the ways of a man with a woman. She had taught him that many of the women who haunted the saloons and whorehouses were there because they had no other choice. Even though the life hardened them eventually, many of them had once been innocent victims of bad or uncaring men.
He'd used a whore more than once since leaving New Orleans, but he'd used them kindly and paid them generously. And he'd been careful, for Felice's warnings about disease had been enough to turn a man's hair white.
Yes, Callie was lucky her pa had apprenticed her to a baker.
So why couldn't he believe it was done for kindly reasons?
Chapter Fifteen
"What have you done?"
Callie sat up, jerked from sleep by Frau Trebelhorn's loud voice. "I-- What? Done?"
"You are a wicked girl, a Verbrecher. You have killed a man and brought evil on the reputation of this hotel. Out!"
Shaking her head, she tried to make sense of what the woman had said. Before she could more than set her bare feet on the icy floor, Frau Trebelhorn had jerked her coat off her and thrown it to the floor. "Get up. Get out!"
She shivered and reached for the coat. There was a cold draft under the curtain. Had the back door been left standing open? "I didn't--" Her voice faded as Frau Trebelhorn's words repeated themselves in her mind. With an effort, she whispered, "Killed? I didn't kill--"
"He is dead because of you. I will not have bad people working in my kitchen. Go, and take your trash with you. Go now." With a last angry glare, she stalked out. "I never want to see you again. Never!"
She meant it. Her stubbornness was well known about town. When Callie had come to work here, Abner had warned her never to argue with Frau Trebelhorn, because she'd never win. Because the woman believed Callie was guilty of terrible crimes, no one would ever convince her otherwise. Worse, she would likely spread the news around the town, and people would believe her.
What will I do? No one else in Cheyenne will give me a job if they believe I'm a killer.
With shaking hands, she pulled on her boots. She pulled her ruined valise from under the cot and picked up her shredded clothing from where it was scattered. With each item she stuffed into a torn pillowcase, her heart broke a little more. Where would she go? She had thirty-seven dollars and a bit more, no clothes but what she wore, and no place to live. No way to earn a living other than baking.
I've enough to get me back to Ogden, but that's all. Can I do it? I walked halfway to Virginia City once. This time there would be no good-hearted young man to rescue her. And she wasn't a skinny urchin who could pass as a boy any more.
She had everything packed and was on her way out the back door when she heard Abner speak her name. Turning, she looked at him.
His dark face was sad, his shoulders slumped. "I tried, Miz Callie. I truly did. She wouldn't listen to me. Wouldn't believe you'd done nothin' wrong."
"Oh, Abner..."
"Go to Bethany. She'll give you a bed." He stretched out a hand, but didn't quite touch her.
She took it, squeezed. "I can't accept--"
"You go there, hear? I'll be along when I gets off work. We'll figure something out."
She had no choice. "All right. I..." Tears clogged her throat. She swallowed once, twice, before finding her voice. "Just until--"
"Until you gets a better job. I hear ye."
The stuffed pillowcase weighed heavy as she dodged frozen puddles and steaming horse droppings along Thomas Street. The colored section of town was clear out on the north edge, clustered around the African Methodist church. Callie had a feeling she'd be more welcome out there than anywhere else in Cheyenne, safely among the other outcasts.
Did the Pinkerton man know about Pa's shipped freight? Had Merlin told him? It was still at the depot, because she hadn't wanted to have it in her cubby, where it could have been stolen.
There was no reason for him to be interested in it. How could it have anything to do with a bank robbery?
Abner's sister made her at home, but she was uncomfortable anyhow. She wasn't an honored guest. She was a refugee.
"You call me Bethany, now. I ain't so fine I gots to be Miz Simpson to you." She scurried around, moving the best chair up to the scrubbed-white table and setting the kettle on the stove. "Abner says you likes your tea, so I'll jest make you some. I favor it myself."
Callie looked around. The shanty where the Simpsons lived was scarcely big enough for Bethany and her husband, let alone the two boys. Leroy and Lester would be home later, but Hiram was gone until Saturday. "He's a porter on the Express," Bethany said. "It's a fine job."
She brought a teapot to the table and wrapped it in a threadbare linen towel. "There now, we'll jest let that steep a while. It's some fancy Chinese tea Hiram bought in San Francisco the last time he was there."
"You're all so kind." Callie heard her voice quaver. She swallowed twice before she was able to steady it. "I only need a place to stay tonight. I'll be going back to Montana as soon as I can."
"Montana? You ain't thinkin' of goin' off from here?"
At her nod, Bethany said, "You can't do that, Miz Callie. We'll take care of you. This ain't no time to be travelin', 'specially not a woman all alone. You rest here a piece, and when Lester comes home, he'll see what he can do about finding you work.
"My Lester, he's real smart. Ain't much goes on in Cheyenne he don't know about." Bethany's pride was plain in her wide smile.
"I doubt anyone will hire me, once Frau Trebelhorn gets done talking. And without a job, I can't afford a hotel room, or even a boarding house. I've got to go back." She thought of Virginia City as home. Iowa was a long way from here, a long time ago. She couldn't even bring to mind the town where she and her mother had spent her childhood, nor the house they'd lived in.
"Never you mind. Abner, he says he's got a notion about where you can stay. When he comes here tonight, he'll tell you all about it."
The day seemed endless. She offered to help Bethany with her laundry, but the woman acted embarrassed at the very idea. When Callie suggested that she prepare supper for the family, the reaction was even more horrified. "You's a white lady, Miz Callie. I can't have you doing work in my house. Set yourself down there and have more tea."
Since Callie had drunk enough tea to float a steamboat, she politely refused, but she did set herself down. The last thing she wanted to do was make Abner's sister uncomfortable.
To think she'd once thought people of color to be the next thing to savages. They'd been kinder to her than those of her own color lately.
Except Merlin.
Abner came in shortly after Bethany had lit the single lamp on the table. "Frau Trebelhorn, she's still havin' conniptions," he said,
as he hung his shabby coat on a nail by the door. "All day she's goin' on about not havin' no pies or bread, worryin' at me 'cause I can't bake bread. I made some pies, and told her I'd do biscuits like I did before you come, but that didn't make her happy. She wants bread."
Having thought about the way Frau Trebelhorn had raged at her this morning, Callie said, "I'd go back if she apologized, but only then."
"Oh, she ain't a'gonna say she's sorry. She's sure you're one of them bank robbers and she tried to talk the Pinkerton man into arresting you."
Callie buried her face in her hands. "How will I--"
"Don't you worry none. I sent Lester out to the freight yards. Mr. Merlin, he'll take care of everything. Why, I'll bet he's on his way here now."
"You told him--"
"Course I did. He's got a care for you, girl. He'll want to see to you, make sure you got a place to stay. He's a good man."
He turned to his sister and said, "He was tellin' me his godfather's a black man. Can you beat that? A fine young fellow like him, claiming to be near kin to a nigger."
"I told you not to use that word where the boys can hear it," Bethany said, with a glare. "It's slave talk."
"It surely is. But still, I has to wonder what kind of folks would ask a black man to stand up for their child."
"A good family, I think," Callie said. Hadn't they sent her telegram on to Merlin, even though it was addressed wrong. She hadn't even spelled his last name right, yet his family had made sure he got her plea for help.
They'd just sat to supper when a knock came at the door. Abner opened it to reveal Merlin stranding on the stoop.
"I came as soon as I could," he said as he stepped inside. He looked past Abner, straight at her.
For some reason the concern in his voice and the worry in his eye rubbed her the wrong way. "No need," she said sharply. "I can take care of myself."
He ignored her while handing Abner his coat and hat. "Thanks for sending Lester out. I doubt she'd have let me know." A raised eyebrow was all the attention he paid her. He accepted a cup of coffee and sat at the table with them until they finished eating.
Squire's Quest Page 14
