Golden State Brides

by Keli Gwyn

  “What you’re seeing is a man who knows what he wants and is aiming to get it.”

  Abe grinned. “And what would that be? No. Let me guess. You’re hankerin’ to perform a duet with Mrs. Watkins. Talk in town is she spent an hour at the Morton place last evening, so you just might get your wish.”

  Miles couldn’t believe what he was hearing. If he weren’t afraid of getting a mouthful of soap, he would protest. Asking Ellie to join their informal Tuesday night folk music practices was one thing. Those sessions were about having fun. But the Musical Society was a different matter entirely. The members worked hard and presented a polished performance. No woman he knew had the experience or training required to warrant membership. From what he’d heard, Ellie was no different. She’d been denied admittance to the orchestra in Omaha, and yet she was trying to join theirs.

  Hopefully Mr. Morton had been tactful when he explained the situation to her. She could get testy when she didn’t get her way. And she wouldn’t this time. She’d proven she had the skills needed to run a business, but until she measured up to the skills of the other musicians, she wouldn’t earn the right to perform with them. El Dorado might be small, but the Society had achieved notoriety as one of the best groups in the area.

  Abe reached for his razor, sharpened it, and fixed probing gray eyes on Miles. “That scowl tells me you ain’t happy with the idea.”

  “Are you?”

  “Don’t rightly know. I suppose I’d have to hear her play first. But one thing I do know is that she loves the music. I can’t say as I’ve ever seen anyone as taken with one of our performances as she was. Perhaps her comin’ from the East and all, she appreciates the composers’ works more than most.”

  Miles blew out a breath, sending bits of white foam flying. “That’s an unfair comparison, and you know it. The people here are as cultured in their own way.”

  “Say what you will, but it seems to me they take more of a likin’ to your fiddlin’ than they did your Vivaldi solo. The hall was full, but twice as many show up when we play at a folk dance.”

  “She liked it.”

  Abe raised his shaggy brows. “Liked? The woman was as drawn to you as a horse thief to a prize filly. Every time I glanced her way, Ellie-nora was starin’ at you with those doe-eyes of hers. ’Course maybe it weren’t just the music had her in a trance.”

  That comment didn’t deserve a response. Not that Miles could come up with one anyhow. Abe was right. Even though Ellie was usually mindful of propriety, her gaze had rested on him the entire time. Not that he minded her staring at him. Her obvious pleasure had pushed him to new heights. He’d never performed the piece with the finesse he had that night.

  When he’d walked her home and placed that kiss on her palm, she’d looked completely undone, although she recovered quickly enough.

  And then she’d said words that meant far more than her praise of his performance. I’m not about to fawn all over you—or stop trying to best you. Delivered with that spirit of hers, he’d seen her in a new light. She might be a determined woman who could be stubborn at times, but she wasn’t obstinate like Irene. And Ellie certainly wasn’t deceptive. He knew where he stood with her, which was why he’d decided to offer her a partnership after all.

  “You want me to dine with you? At the hotel?” Elenora was taken aback by the unexpected request and the eagerness that shone in Mr. Rutledge’s expressive eyes. Hopefully her face revealed only mild curiosity, but she feared she looked as shocked as she felt. “Why can’t we go to your place as usual?”

  He rested a hand on the hitching post in front of the bank. “Folks have been talking, and I want to put an end to it.”

  Although the women had agreed to be discreet and not let anyone else know of her plan to audition, he must have found out about her meeting with Mr. Morton.

  Mr. Rutledge inclined his head toward the sheriff’s office and beckoned her with a crooked finger. She drew near, and he leaned close. “If you agree to dine with me, the rumors about you and Hank will—”

  “My relationship with Sheriff Henderson is purely professional, and you know it.” She stepped back and studied him. He appeared affronted, but his moustache twitched. Why, he was teasing. And here she’d been afraid he was going to grill her on her intentions regarding the Musical Society, when that didn’t seem to be the case at all. Perhaps he’d come around, as Mr. Morton and several of the other men had.

  She tossed out a playful retort. “What’s the real reason for your invitation? Perhaps you’ve thought of some other derogatory terms with which to malign my merchandise and want to try them out. I don’t think you’ve used ‘fribble’ or ‘folderol.’ ”

  He grinned. “Now Ellie, give me some credit. I do care about your reputation.” He sobered. “The truth is, my appreciation of your business acumen has grown. You’ve employed some innovative techniques lately, and I’ve an offer I’d like you to consider.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You are a mystery. But since I want to know what you’re after—and since I have a fondness for the hotel’s peach and pecan pie—I’ll accept your invitation.”

  Ten minutes later Elenora sat in the hotel’s lobby as they waited for a table in the restaurant. Mr. Rutledge occupied the other end of the floral settee. Tantalizing scents caused her mouth to water, but more than a meal she wanted answers. He’d said nothing since requesting a table, and her curiosity was eating at her. She glanced around the lobby, saw no one, and slid closer to him.

  He arched a brow but remained silent.

  “Why the change of heart? Until today you’ve had nothing good to say about my methods of doing business while my shop’s being repaired. And now you’re full of praise.”

  “When I first heard you were out visiting the womenfolk, I thought you were making social calls, and I had trouble with that. I knew a woman once who spent too much of her time doing so, to the detriment of others. The fellows down at the livery set me straight though. You’ve come up with a way to bring in business in spite of your shop being closed. Many people would’ve wrung their hands and bemoaned their fate, but you didn’t. You’re a competent businesswoman with new ideas, and I admire that.”

  She’d been clutching her reticule, but it slipped from her hand, sending a coin rolling over the floor. The shiny disc spun in smaller and smaller circles, the scratching sound of metal on wood increasing with each revolution until it fell over with a plop. He retrieved the silver dollar, took her hand in his, and placed the coin on her palm. Even though she wore gloves, his warmth penetrated the thin fabric. She should have ended the contact, but she couldn’t stop staring at his large fingers wrapped around hers, fingers that bore scars from his scramble over the rubble that had been the front of her shop.

  He released her. “I’ve startled you.”

  “Startled” didn’t come close. “Stunned” would be a more accurate description. His impassioned speech was totally unexpected. She lifted her head, not sure what she’d see in his eyes. Not sure what she wanted to see. “What, exactly, are you trying to say?”

  “I didn’t make a good first impression. I’d like to start over. Will you give me another chance?” His words and apologetic tone were in harmony.

  “Are you asking me to be your partner after all?”

  “I think we’d make a good team. You work as hard as I do, and you said yourself I could use help with my bookkeeping and back room.” His voice held not a hint of humor. She’d rarely seen him as serious.

  She attempted a smile but was unable to keep it in place for more than two seconds. For months she’d dreamed of being part owner of his thriving business, but so much had changed since she’d arrived in town. She had her own place and was her own boss. No one could tell her what to do.

  Although her doors hadn’t been open long, she’d been doing well before the accident. Even now she’d managed to find a way to make sales. Each day presented challenges, but she enjoyed them. Was she willing
to give all that up in exchange for the security she’d have if she accepted his offer?

  The cleft between his brows deepened as he drew them together. He’d obviously taken a risk in asking her and deserved an honest answer. “I don’t know. The repairs on my shop will begin soon, and I’ll be able to open my doors again. I know you want to help, but…” He did. That was clear. But why? She needed time to sort things out. “This is so sudden.”

  His words spilled out in a rush, nearly tumbling over one another Tildy-style. “You don’t have to make a decision right away, but if you accept my offer I could have your wares moved to my shop whenever you’re ready. You wouldn’t have to spend your days tromping from house to house holding your socials. I’m sure you’d rather be here in town where you’re close to Tildy.”

  What did he mean by bringing Tildy into the discussion? He had no idea what it was like to be a woman raising a child on her own. To worry about meeting that child’s needs. To lie awake at night fighting tears because you knew you were falling short.

  Elenora leaped to her feet, and he followed suit. “Due to circumstances beyond my control I’ve had to conduct business at my customers’ homes, true, but I’m a good mother. I’m also a widowed businesswoman doing my best to provide for my daughter.”

  “I’m sorry, Ellie. I should have chosen my words more carefully. I want to—”

  “I haven’t neglected Tildy. She enjoys the things your mother is teaching her during the day, and I spend time with her every evening. She’s happier here than she’s ever been in her life. If you don’t believe me, ask her.”

  Elenora’s chest rose and fell rapidly. She wanted nothing more than to walk away and leave him with only his condemnation for company, but he’d just follow her to his place.

  “I didn’t mean to imply that you’re lacking as a mother.” He had the good sense to look sorry for his accusation. “I can see how much you love Tildy. I thought you’d like to be closer to her, which you would be if you worked in my shop.”

  My shop. That’s what Pa had always said, too, even after all the years and hard work she’d poured into his place. And that’s what Mr. Rutledge would say if she were foolish enough to accept his offer. She’d be a junior partner, but he’d have the final say. Now that she’d tasted independence, she wasn’t about to give it up. Certainly not for a man like Mr. Rutledge, who felt free to speak his own mind, even when it concerned her business.

  She didn’t need time. One seemingly heartfelt apology wasn’t enough to sway her. Not after all the disparaging remarks he’d made the past two months. Perhaps this ploy was his way of eliminating the competition. If he was so concerned, she must be doing something right.

  And she’d keep on doing it—right after she dined with him and got as much information out of him about his precious shop and how he ran it as she could.

  The following evening Miles sat in Rutledge Hall with his violin between his knees, the neck toward the floor, and adjusted the bridge. He held up the instrument to check the orientation. Hank entered, greeted several men on his way over to Miles, and watched while he repeated the process two more times until he was satisfied. After he checked the pitch of the strings, he glanced at his friend. Hank leaned against the wall wearing a grin. “What?”

  “What do you mean, what?”

  “I’ve seen that look before. You know something I don’t.”

  “I know a good many things. I’m the sheriff, and, as such, I’m a keeper of secrets.”

  Miles laid his violin in its case and stood. He had four inches on Hank, which would force him to look up, giving Miles the advantage. Hank might not say what was on his mind, but he flushed when he was uncomfortable, and Miles intended to use whatever means he could to find out what Hank was hiding. Right now Hank’s neck was the color of the velvet on which Miles’s violin rested. “I assume this has to do with Mrs. Watkins. She agreed to go to dinner with me yesterday at the hotel.”

  “So I heard. How’d things go?” Hank pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and checked the time.

  “She’s considering my offer.”

  “Do you think you can work with her? She’s got a mind of her own.”

  “She’s bright, works hard, and knows all there is to know about running a mercantile. No one’s ever shown as much interest in my business as she did. One question led to another, and before I knew it I needed to get back to the mercantile.”

  “I hope things work out for you.” Hank glanced at the door. “Mr. Morton should be here by now.”

  Something wasn’t right. Punctuality wasn’t one of Hank’s virtues, so why was he concerned about their conductor being a few minutes later than usual?

  Two sets of footfalls made their way up the wooden staircase, one heavy and one light. Almost sounded like—

  A soft peal of laughter drifted through the open door. Female laughter.

  Miles looked at Hank, who’d moved to his spot and taken a sudden interest in his cello.

  Ellie stepped inside, her violin case in her hand. Mr. Morton followed and made his way to the platform. The room grew silent as one man after another noticed her arrival. They turned en masse and looked at Miles, several of them sporting silly grins.

  He crossed the room and stood before her. “I heard you’d spoken with Mr. Morton, but I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Her rigid posture and raised chin reminded him of their first meeting when he’d acted in haste, and she’d decided to open her own place. She’d struck the same pose that day.

  “Why not? Because I’m a woman, one with a business to oversee and a daughter to care for? One who should stay home where she belongs and not intrude on the sacred domain reserved for men?”

  “That’s not it.” If she believed his surprise stemmed from his earlier opposition to her on those grounds, she’d never accept his offer of a partnership. “When I heard you weren’t admitted to the orchestra in Omaha, I thought…” Judging by the challenge in her eyes and the warning on several of the musicians’ faces, he’d better not say what he thought.

  “You thought what? That I’m undeserving of membership in this fine organization because I lack the talent?”

  He said nothing. Words would only make things worse, because none of those that came to mind could tactfully convey his concern about her ability.

  She held his gaze for several seconds. A shadow crossed her face, so fleeting he wondered if he’d imagined it, and she thrust that determined chin of hers higher yet. “Your silence speaks for itself. But it’s your turn to be surprised, Mr. Rutledge, because Mr. Morton doesn’t share your opinion.”

  Chapter 16

  A shiver shimmied up Elenora’s spine, and she smiled in anticipation of her initial performance before the Society. In a few short minutes Mr. Rutledge would get his comeuppance. Although he was a gifted musician, he had no right assuming her skills were lacking.

  He scanned the faces of those in the room and rested his eyes on her. “They knew, didn’t they? And no one told me. Why?”

  “I thought you’d have heard by now. There aren’t many secrets in El Dorado. Everyone knows I enjoy playing and have been providing the entertainment at my socials. You don’t think the women have come just to buy my wares, do you?” She laughed, but he didn’t look amused.

  Mr. Morton joined them. “Judging by the shocked look on your face when you saw Mrs. Watkins, Miles, it would appear your friends have had some fun at your expense.”

  “So you admitted her?”

  “She auditioned for me. Based on her talent, I welcomed her without reservation.”

  “You made the decision on your own? I would have thought you’d consult us.”

  “She’s agreed to perform the same selection for all of you that she did for me. When you hear her, I think you’ll understand why I was eager to have her as a member.” He raised his voice. “Gentlemen, kindly take your seats and prepare to play the fourth movement of The Four Seasons. Mrs. Watkins will be
joining us.”

  “The Four Seasons? That’s a fine choice, Mrs. Watkins, one that will test any musician.” The storm clouds darkening Mr. Rutledge’s countenance parted, and a smile lit his face. When he beamed like that, he looked warm, friendly—and more handsome than any man she’d ever met. But this glimpse of him at his best would be brief, since she was about to perform a portion of the lengthy solo that had earned him a chorus of compliments at the concert.

  He followed her up the steps to the stage and stood where he had during the final number at the concert. She waited off to the side while the rest of the orchestra took their seats and located their music. A frisson of excitement shook her. Any minute now Mr. Rutledge would be forced to eat another course of his hasty words. Although it shouldn’t, that thought brought her immense satisfaction.

  Mr. Morton mounted his platform. “Miles, kindly take your seat. Mrs. Watkins is performing the solo.”

  “But that was my so—”

  A chorus of sniggers, chuckles, and one belly laugh ensued. Mr. Rutledge’s face contorted, whether in anger or pain she couldn’t be sure. And then, to her amazement, a rosy flush flooded his cheeks. He slunk to a vacant chair in the front row, dropped into it, and fumbled through the music on his stand.

  His apparent humiliation touched a deep chord. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times Pa had put her in her place in front of customers. His customers, as he’d insisted on calling them. She remembered the sinking feeling in her stomach and the bitter taste in her mouth.

  Perhaps her decision to play the piece that had afforded Mr. Rutledge the admiration of the townspeople was a mistake. It was one thing to compete with him in business, but to upstage him musically as well could be considered unkind. A man didn’t appreciate being bested, especially by a woman. And certainly not in front of his peers.

  But why should she concern herself with his feelings when he’d disregarded hers? He poked fun at her wares and her way of doing business whenever he wanted. She’d even caught him talking about her behind her back.