Golden State Brides

by Keli Gwyn

  “I reckon so, but I can always roust Timmy if we need him.”

  “I’d prefer to let him sleep, since he’s pulling the second shift tonight.”

  Tommy grinned. “Good idea. ’Sides, he’s not much good with the lady customers. His face glowed red as a horseshoe fresh out of the smithy’s fire when Miss Abbott asked why them silk stockings wasn’t in her delivery.”

  Elenora cringed. How many of those passing by had heard him? She spoke softly and hoped he’d follow suit. “I realize you’re more comfortable discussing such matters than your brother, but a gentleman doesn’t mention a woman’s intimate articles. If you have to tell me such things, at least keep your voice down.”

  The spirited young man hid beneath the brim of his dusty felt hat. “Yes’m.”

  Tommy and Tildy were much alike, both struggling to tame their tongues. Mr. Rutledge could use some help in that area as well. At dinner yesterday he’d made one of his frivolities versus necessities comments, saying he’d built his business on the latter and found carrying the former a waste of time and money. What fun it had been to remind him of the conniption he’d had when the shipment with his expensive sandalwood shaving soap from England was late the week before.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  Oh dear. She’d tried to suppress the snigger, but thinking about Mr. Rutledge’s tendency to open his mouth before his mind was engaged tickled her. “I’m sorry. It had nothing to do with you. I was thinking of something else. I’ll leave you to get those items to the customers and have an early supper for you when you get back—such as it is.”

  “Your grub ain’t that bad. Ma’s pot roast can be tough as shoe leather, too. Um. That didn’t come out right. I mean—”

  “There’s no harm done. I know what you meant. I got busy and forgot to add water, that’s all. At least only the bottom burned.”

  They shared a laugh, and she set out for the post office. She’d taken three steps when Tommy called her.

  “What is it?”

  “If you want me to get to those deliveries, you’ll have to let me in the shop.”

  “Of course.” She reached in her handbag, pulled out a key, and gave it to him. “This is my only spare. You and Timmy will have to share it.”

  His jaw hung to his knees as he stared at the key she’d placed on his palm. “You mean for us to keep this?”

  “Yes. That way you can come and go as you need.”

  His voice came out raspy. “Ain’t no one ever trusted us like you. Most folks call us trouble times two.”

  “I’ve heard. But are you?”

  He shook his head, and his long blond locks slapped his cheeks. “No ma’am. And we’ll take right good care of this. You won’t be sorry.”

  She smiled. “I’m counting on that.”

  Tommy clomped down the walkway, the key clutched in his fist, whistling a lively tune.

  The jangle of spurs drew Elenora’s attention. “I thought that was you, Sheriff.”

  He stood beside her and watched until Tommy passed her boarded-up shop and rounded the corner of the hotel on his way to the back entrance of her place. “Can’t say as I’ve ever seen Tommy strut quite like that.”

  The young man did have a pronounced swagger. “I gave him a key to the shop.”

  “I thought that’s what I saw. There’s some would say you’re being foolhardy.”

  “But you’re not one of them, I hope.”

  Sheriff Henderson pulled a large ring of keys from his pocket. “A man feels mighty important when he’s packing metal.” He laughed at his own joke and sobered. “I hope you’ve not misplaced your trust, but I got a feeling you know what you’re doing.”

  “Why, Sheriff, you said you’re not good with words, but those suit me just fine.”

  A flush crept up his neck, and she wished she’d not attempted to tease him. He didn’t take it as well as—Oh, bother! Why must she think of Mr. Rutledge at every turn?

  She excused herself and hurried to the shoemaker’s before he closed for the dinner hour. Tildy’s old boots pinched her toes, and Elenora was eager to get the new pair the cobbler had made. Her dear girl was convinced the side laces on the stiff leather boots would make her look more grown up. The decorative tassels at the tops, however, would come as a surprise. Elenora couldn’t wait to see the grin on Tildy’s face when she saw them. Times might be tough now, but things would improve. One small splurge wouldn’t hurt. Besides, she’d been such a good sport about staying with Mrs. Rutledge each day that she deserved a reward.

  Elenora left the shoemaker’s with a brown paper parcel. She strolled down the walkway but came to a stop when Pearl Dupree walked out of Rutledge Mercantile. “What are you doing in town in the middle of the day? I thought you’d be busy working in your garden.”

  Pearl beamed. “Will and I are celebrating our wedding anniversary. He said I shouldn’t have to cook today, so he’s taking me to dinner at the Oriental Hotel. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “Happy anniversary.” Elenora looked around. “Are the children with you?”

  “We’ll take them with us to the concert tonight, of course, but they’re home right now. We rarely leave them, but Paul’s old enough to mind the others, and Constance can get a simple meal, so it’s just Will and me. I feel as excited as I did when he was courting me.”

  “Have a wonderful time. I won’t keep you since I’d like to make it to the livery before I grab a quick bite of dinner myself and practice the pieces I’m playing at my next social.”

  A dull ache filled Elenora’s chest. She’d never been courted or had a man make her feel special. Not unless she counted the day Mr. Rutledge have given her the rose. No. They weren’t exactly friends, so that didn’t count.

  Chapter 14

  Miles donned his hat and coat shortly before noon on that long-awaited Saturday. Only seven more hours until the concert. He stood before his shop and smiled.

  Ellie marched toward the livery wearing her purple dress, the one that made her dark eyes shine. He waited for a rider to pass and crossed Main, dodging a muddy patch left from the light rain earlier that morning. The musty, dusty smell of damp earth filled the air. What he’d like was a whiff of her perfume, the one she’d worn during their shooting lesson. No doubt the stuff was from Europe and she’d paid way too much for it, but the fragrance rivaled that of his best roses.

  It wasn’t likely she’d let him get close enough to drink in the scent though. She’d kept her distance ever since the shooting lesson. Dinner without her wasn’t the same, and she’d missed several the past week. She should schedule her house calls so she didn’t have to give up her time with Tildy. They only saw each other a few minutes in the morning and again at night. Didn’t she want to be with her daughter? He’d give anything in the world if he could be with his again. But May was gone.

  No. He wouldn’t think about that. He couldn’t. Eight years wasn’t long enough to ease the stabbing pain that pierced his heart whenever he recalled the day he’d come home and learned of the tragedy. If only Irene had put May first, but her friends were all that mattered to her.

  By the time Miles reached the livery, he’d managed to return his thoughts to the present. Eager to see Ellie again, he went inside and heard her say his name.

  “—to tell Mr. Rutledge yourself. I hadn’t planned to see him today.”

  Silas, the owner of the livery, darted his eyes to Miles and back to her.

  “He’s behind me, isn’t he?” Silas nodded. She turned slowly and frowned.

  What had he done this time? He hadn’t even opened his mouth yet. “Good morning, Mrs. Watkins.”

  “Mr. Rutledge.” She gave him a halfhearted smile but said nothing more.

  “Are you still upset because I spoke my mind about the twins? If that’s it, time will tell.”

  “Quite true. You’ll see that they can be trusted.”

  Silas sauntered across the livery, folded his arms over his chest, and stood beside
Miles. “I suppose you’re checking on your shipment. I asked the good lady to tell you it’s due ’round three.” He leaned close and spoke through the side of his mouth in an exaggerated whisper Ellie was sure to hear. “The air seems on the chilly side today. You two on the outs again?”

  The tight-lipped liveryman was the last person he’d have expected to ask such a question. Perhaps this was his way of letting them know what the busybodies were saying.

  Miles assumed a light tone. If Ellie would go along with him, they could dispel the rumors. “We put on a good show. You know there are those who aren’t happy unless there’s some new morsel to pass on. Truth is, my friend and I were about to go to my house for dinner, where Tildy has a surprise waiting for her mama. Weren’t we, Mrs. Watkins?”

  Would she call him on his ploy? He gave her a genuine smile.

  She studied him for a moment, her gaze so intense she could have blazed holes in the wall behind him.

  And then she laughed. Not a dignified laugh befitting a lady, but an honest-to-goodness get-some-fresh-air-in-yourlungs laugh that, while puzzling, was as welcome as a breeze on a midsummer’s day. She recovered, dabbed her eyes with the back of her hand, and closed the distance between them. “Yes, my friend, I’m dining at your place today. Shall we be going?”

  He held out his arm, and, wonder of wonders, she rested her small hand on it without a moment’s hesitation and looked at him with eagerness on her upturned face.

  No sooner had they left the livery than she pulled her hand away and swatted his arm playfully. “You are a most exasperating man, Mr. Rutledge.”

  “You can be quite exasperating yourself, Ellie.”

  She stopped, and he waited for her rebuke. When she faced him, she wore the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. Not her sterile businesswoman smile, her loving mother smile, or her syrupy smile. This was a warm-from-the-oven apple-pie smile. He could almost smell the cinnamon.

  “My friend.” She chuckled. “You called me that, you know?”

  He nodded. Speaking would spoil the moment, so he waited.

  She looked at him. Really looked—as though she were seeing neither a business rival nor stubborn cynic, but the man beneath. He swallowed, and his collar felt tight.

  “You’re the first man who’s ever considered me his friend. So…I suppose…all things considered…” A becoming blush crept into her cheeks.

  Please. Don’t let her stop now.

  “Pa calls me Nora, and I don’t care for it one bit. But Ellie? Well, it does have a nice ring to it. Although…it’s not proper for you to use it. You do know that?”

  “Yes, Ellie.”

  She gave him one more searching gaze and started down the walkway. He kept pace with her and rejoiced when she turned up Church Street toward his house.

  “Mother will be glad to see you. She’s missed you.”

  “I’ve been busy, but one of her delicious meals eaten with delightful company would be just the thing. I don’t get nearly enough time with Tildy these days, which grieves me. However, this turn of events won’t last forever, and I’ll be able to reopen my shop.”

  The sun broke through the clouds, bathing her in light. She stopped, closed her eyes, and smiled. He took advantage of the opportunity to admire her lovely face. Ellie relaxed was a rare sight, one he’d like to see more often. All too soon she started walking again.

  “How are your house calls working out?”

  “I’m getting to know the townspeople. I’ve learned that Mrs. Pratt wants a floor covering to coordinate with her green and gold wallpaper, that Mrs. Barton collects decorative inkstands, and that Miss Crowley—” She shook her head. “Why am I telling you? You care about their practical needs, not their decor or collections.”

  “I know they buy more soap flakes and stove polish than carpets and curios.”

  She clenched the spray of silk flowers at her throat in a choke hold. He’d sent her smile into hiding and groaned inwardly. When would he learn to curb his wayward tongue? Could he recapture the moment? “But there’s more to life than work, right?”

  “Yes, Mr. Rutledge, there is. I wondered when you’d realize that. Or did you say that just to mollify me?”

  “You should know by now I’m not one to tread carefully when words are involved. I generally say what I mean.”

  They reached the hedge in front of his house, and she paused. “Then tell me. Did you order the Haviland china because you wanted it or because your mother did?”

  “The china? I liked it. Why?”

  “It’s what I’d consider a luxury. So you see, Mr. Rutledge”—she smiled once again—“there’s hope for you yet.”

  “Is there?” He brushed the back of a hand over her cheek.

  She tensed. “Oh dear. I didn’t mean to mislead you. Being friends is one thing, but I’m not looking for anything else. If I gave you that impression, I’m sorry.”

  Friends. He tried to say it, but the word stuck in his craw.

  Tildy stood before the full-length mirror in Elenora’s bedroom and turned in a circle, her head swiveling so she could see herself at every angle. She ran a hand over the wide sash at her waist. “Look how the skirt sways when I move and the tassels on my new boots dance. Don’t I look like a princess?”

  “A very pretty princess.”

  The peach taffeta fell in soft folds and ended just below her knees in two rows of quilled flounces. The large bow trailing down her back had quilled edges as well. Mrs. Rutledge must have spent hours pinning and pressing the small folds. Her son had said Tildy had a surprise, but Elenora never expected something so grand. The gifted gown was the finest Tildy had ever owned.

  “And you’re a queen, Mama. Mr. Rutledge’s eyes will sparkle when he sees you. Green is his favorite color.”

  “My dear, where do you get your ideas? He will have one thing on his mind. His music. Here. Let me put these on your braids.”

  Tildy stood with her back to Elenora as she tied the ribbons into bows. “I do find it odd that the townspeople dress up for a folk music gathering.” Perhaps this concert constituted culture in El Dorado. Pearl had assured her the emerald silk was a good choice.

  “Mrs. Rutledge called it the social event of the season. There’s a big secret, too, but she wouldn’t tell me anything else, no matter how many times I asked. Mr. Rutledge neither.”

  “Mrs. Sanders mentioned it when I was at her place this morning. She said the Musical Society chooses a special number to perform at their spring concert and everyone tries to figure out what it is. That’s why they kept the doors and windows of Rutledge Hall closed during their practices.” The citizens of El Dorado were certainly making a great deal of fuss about some simple folk tunes. At least the event was in a meeting hall instead of a barn.

  The clock in her parlor chimed the quarter hour. Tildy dashed from the room and returned moments later, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Hurry, Mama! They’re letting people inside. We need to go so we can get good seats. I want to be able to see Mr. Rutledge.”

  Elenora had seen more than enough of him recently. Ever since their meeting at the livery, he’d hovered around her like a bee buzzing around his rosebushes. She appreciated his show of friendship, but his words earlier that day, although offered in jest, had stung. She could hear him now. “I know you’re not looking forward to tonight, but you may find you’ve been wrong about a great many things and have to eat your words for a change. And that, Ellie, is something I’d like to see.” His laugh echoed in her memory.

  She would attend this so-called concert, but as for eating words, there’d better be some water available, because he’d need a nice big glass of it to wash his down.

  Tildy tugged on Elenora’s hand and pulled her down South Street behind the mercantile. Gathering her skirts, Elenora mounted the staircase that hugged the back wall of the rock-sided building, which extended well beyond the smaller ones on either side.

  When they reached the top and entered Rutledge Hall,
her jaw went slack. Several seconds passed before she regained her composure. Although this was a small-town affair, the guests wore fashions as fine as any she’d seen in the East.

  While the spacious room lacked the plush velvet-covered chairs she was accustomed to, there was an air of elegance nonetheless. Long wooden benches with varnished seats gleamed in the warm light cast by evenly spaced lamps that lined three walls. The emerald brocade curtain at the front of the raised stage area complemented the foliage in the Daisy wallpaper by William Morris, which she’d seen in one of the catalogs Mr. Rutledge loaned her. That explained the dog-eared page. The assortment of meadow flowers on the pale gold background reminded her of the walk they’d taken when he whisked her through the air and gazed at her with such rapt—

  “Mama.” Tildy yanked on her sleeve. “He’s over there talking to Mr. and Mrs. Dupree. Doesn’t he look good?”

  Elenora followed the direction of Tildy’s inclined head and had to keep from gaping a second time. Mr. Rutledge was the picture of a cultured gentleman in his formal black tailcoat and white satin cravat. He was by far the most handsome man in the room, but she’d never heard of anyone fiddling in finery.

  He looked up, saw her, and appeared to stop midsentence. Will Dupree looked her way, smiled, and gave Miles a playful shove in her direction.

  “He’s coming.”

  “Yes, sweetheart. I see that.”

  He wended his way around clusters of well-dressed townspeople and reached the entry, where Tildy and Elenora stood beside the curtained stage that filled the back wall of the rectangular room. Elenora endeavored to appear unaffected.

  “Welcome to Rutledge Hall, ladies. I’ve reserved seats for you next to Mother.” He held out a hand to a vacant spot in the front row.

  “Oh! You didn’t need to do that.” Her voice came out breathy. Mr. Rutledge was always well kempt, but seeing him in this fine setting looking every bit the dapper gentleman had her grasping at her usual composure.