The Drifter

by Lisa Plumley

  Conversation turned rapidly to the criminal capture that had brought the bounty hunter to the Arizona Territory, and to Avalanche. Julia stood by in stunned amazement as the lively talk continued between her family and her imminent fiancé. If she’d expected them to be taken aback at Graham’s unusual occupation, she’d been mistaken.

  “But why are we going on and on, here in the parlor,” Asa said several confusing minutes later, “when Mr. Corley is doubtlessly hungry?”

  “Oh, yes, please do join us for dinner,” Geneva urged.

  Although she did not actually seize Graham’s arm in encouragement, she did plant herself directly in his path…with her elbow conveniently crooked. With a wink for Julia, Graham did his duty and escorted her aunt.

  “Thank you,” he said, grinning. “I’d be happy to.”

  His boots rang loudly against the polished floor-boards, and his rough clothing contrasted madly with the painstakingly stylish furnishings around him. Graham’s easy ways took the place of proper manners, and his ready laughter belied all decorum. But despite all that, her father and aunt clustered around the bounty hunter. They watched with satisfied eyes as he sat at the table, and quickly summoned Alice to serve him.

  And that was how, against all reason and expectation, Julia found her choice of a temporary fiancé welcomed into the bosom of the Bennett family. It was almost simple enough to cause suspicion…if she’d been a mistrustful sort of person. Which, of course, she wasn’t.

  Or hadn’t been. Until now.

  The dining room of the Bennett family, Graham discovered during more than an hour’s worth of eating and conversation, was every bit as idiosyncratic as its inhabitants. The table itself was carved wood in an English style. The urns of colorful peacock feathers in each corner were vaguely exotic. The brick fireplace with its warm crackling flames was rustic, the mullioned windows were modern, and the table settings themselves…never in his life had he come across so much varied china, cutlery and linen.

  He hadn’t the scarcest idea of what fork to use when, nor where to put his hands. Suddenly, they seemed overlarge, even for a man as big as himself. His knuckles grazed the glass goblets, nearly overturning them. His squarish fingers fumbled over the salt cellar and rewarmed beef roast that coin-hungry Alice brought from the kitchen for him. And his conscience nagged at him all the while, for the deceit he was about to practice upon the people who had welcomed him into their home.

  But Julia sat across from him, lovely in the golden glow of the small lighted chandelier overhead. And Julia smiled at his jokes, and worried over the adventures he’d described of his bounty hunting days. He felt fair giddy in her presence, and to see the interest and absorption in her face made any discomfort worthwhile. By the end of the meal, Graham felt sure he’d have happily hung a fork from his shirt and called it a four-in-hand necktie, just to hear her laugh.

  He hadn’t expected to find a welcome here. Had steeled himself against the lack of it, in fact. The familiar tightness in his neck and shoulders told him that much. ’Twas as though he’d brought along five pairs of the iron shackles he carried for reluctant prisoners, and had worn those ’round his shoulders instead of a plain shirt to match his britches.

  The time he’d spent with the family, though, had eased him somewhat. Rolling the kinks from his muscles with a few discreet movements, he reconsidered his situation.

  Asa Bennett and his sister-in-law Geneva were uncommonly open-minded people, Graham decided. He didn’t want to enjoy their wholehearted welcome…but he did. The coziness and laughter around their table did much to restore a man who’d awakened that morning with nary a notion where he’d drifted to now. Or where he’d be going to next.

  “Ahhh, here’s Alice with the plum tart now,” Geneva said, breaking into his mawkish thoughts. She smiled brightly as the maid carried in a porcelain plate filled with pastry. “Do give Mr. Corley the first piece, please, Alice.”

  “I’m near too full to eat another bite,” Graham said, watching as the maid expertly cut and served a crumbly piece of fruit tart. But as she slid a plate before him and the aromas of sweet plums and fresh-baked pastry drifted upward, he couldn’t resist. “It does look delicious, though.”

  “Every man has room for something sweet.” Geneva gave an overly innocent smile as she helped pass more plates of dessert. “Do sample all the treats our household has to offer, Mr. Corley. I insist.”

  Julia’s mouth dropped open. “Aunt Geneva!”

  “What? I’m merely urging our guest to enjoy himself.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m concerned with!”

  “Pshaw. Your Mr. Corley knows precisely what I mean.” Geneva turned to him, her merry hazel eyes twinkling brightly enough to rival her fancy earbobs. “Don’t you, sir?”

  He did. The double entendre contained in her words was ribald enough to take its place amongst the farmer’s daughter jokes at the livery stable. Unable to contain a grin, Graham said, “’Twould be a shame not to end such an excellent meal with a proper finale, I’ll agree. I’m all for something sweet.”

  Geneva straightened, looking delighted. Alice left the dining room carrying the rest of the tart, looking smug. Asa Bennett devoured his pastry, looking ravenous. Julia watched Graham cut a bite of dessert…looking nervous.

  He gave her his best roguish wink for reassurance, and then began to eat. Availing himself of the household’s other delectables would just have to wait for a better time.

  The first tender forkful was fruity and sweet and unlike anything Graham had ever sampled. The buttery pastry nearly melted on his tongue, and the tangy plums brought his senses alive. “Mmmm. Delicious,” he said, closing his eyes to better savor the taste.

  When he’d finished the first bite, Graham opened his eyes to see Julia across the table from him, an enraptured expression on her face. She watched his mouth avidly, her fingers gone still on her own cutlery. Her gaze was alive with a hunger he doubted she recognized, and several moments passed before she realized he’d noticed her.

  A becoming blush rose in her cheeks. “I—I’m so glad you enjoy your dessert,” she said, clearing her throat against a sudden hoarseness. She shifted in her chair. “Is, er, plum tart a special favorite of yours?”

  Asa and Geneva looked on, with avid interest. Graham sensed their gazes, but somehow couldn’t tear his attention from Julia. Something drew them together, he felt sure, but was at a loss to describe what it was.

  “I’ve never tried it before,” he told her. “Nor most other sweets. They’re not easy to come by, for a man on the trail. As a child, I sometimes had penny candy—” nicked from a shop during an outing with Frankie and the others “—but that was all.”

  “No Christmas treats?” Geneva asked in surprise. “No birthday cake?”

  Graham turned to her. The words he’d never meant to say were out before he could stop them, loosened by conviviality and encouraged by the ease he felt. “I don’t know my birthday, ma’am. Never have.”

  The three of them looked shocked. Graham felt equally shocked that he’d ever revealed such a thing. It was unlike him. Shoving aside the rest of his tart, he made ready to leave. He didn’t want to have this conversation, and had stayed overlong, in any case.

  He’d grown complacent, in this place. Already. Bargain or no, Graham couldn’t allow it to happen again.

  “No birthday?” Asa said, breaking the silence with an awkward chuckle. “Damned shame, sir. Perhaps you could adopt one, on your own? I see no reason why not. Holidays are set in just such a manner, and—”

  “Hush, Asa,” Geneva said. With a sympathetic sigh, she reached for Graham’s forearm. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Corley. I’m sure we didn’t mean to be intrusive. Please forgive us.”

  “The fault is mine.” Stiffly, Graham rose.

  As though she’d only just now recovered from the surprise of his announcement, Julia looked up. Regret softened her features, that and…pity? ’Twas more than he could bear.

>   “Please, don’t leave,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know.” Straightening to his full height, Graham met their expectant looks with a straightforward one of his own. Hard-earned pride stiffened his shoulders as he explained.

  “I was a foundling child, discovered on the streets of Boston and taken in by the Sisters of Mercy. ’Tis why I have no birthday. And why I’ve had no plum tart ’til now.” He tried for a grin, but it felt strange on his lips. “Doubtless ’tis why I can say goodbye to you so well right now, given the practice I learned in their care.”

  Some strange emotion welled inside him, and Graham brutally pushed it back. “Thank you for your welcome, and for the meal. I’ll see myself out.”

  He saw nothing but the blur of the household passing him as he left, heard nothing but the thunder of his boots against a floor too fine for the likes of him. And it wasn’t until Graham felt the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder and turned in the midst of putting on his hat and duster coat that he realized Julia had followed him.

  He ducked his head and made a gruff sound, embarrassed to have her see him in so unguarded a state. “You see now why this was a mistake,” Graham said roughly. He shook off her hand to finish pulling on his hat. “I told you so in the park this morning.”

  For a long moment, she only looked at him. Looked at him in a way that made him feel seen, and woefully uncomfortable.

  “Please,” Julia said. “Please, come back. If not now, then tomorrow. Will you promise?”

  He gazed back at her, fighting a fierce urge to cradle her face in his hand. Graham wanted to discover if she gave a kiss as passionately as she wielded a cake of Castile soap, and as sweetly as she’d savored his pleasure in the taste of a tart. But a kiss to Julia would mean more to her than he could give. Graham forced himself to stand steady.

  “I don’t know if I’ll be back,” he answered, as truthfully as he could. She deserved that, at least.

  Then he slipped out the door, into a night that felt more welcoming for its familiarity than anything indoors ever could…for a drifting man like him. And he waited for relief to strike, knowing he’d taken his leave of Julia and her family before things became even more tangled.

  Oddly enough, relief did not strike. For the first time, Graham had allowed himself to want. And what he wanted, what he needed, was the woman he left farther behind with every step.

  Chapter Seven

  Two days passed. Julia had no word from Mr. Corley, and at first feared she never would.

  Without meaning to, her family had hurt him, during their dinner together. As open as the bounty hunter had been about his foundling childhood, it had been as plain as his rigid shoulders and stoic expression that it pained him to speak of it. He would not want to come back for more.

  Doubtless, Mr. Corley would leave Avalanche far behind—and with it, his intentions to hold fast to their bargain, too. Julia had reasoned as much during that long first night. She’d curled into her quilt, cold and unaccountably lonesome, and known in her heart it was true.

  But then her intellect had come to her rescue, and had delivered a plan so clever she felt sure that Fate had a hand in it. Thus far—much to her relief—it had been functioning perfectly. The latest evidence of that fact stood before Julia right now, in her father’s Apothecary and Soda Fountain Emporium.

  Patrick O’Halloran, Libbie’s eleven-year-old brother and Asa Bennett’s drugstore delivery boy, panted as he looked up at her. Beneath his strawberry-blond hair, his cheeks were rosy with the effects of running in April’s early-morning chill.

  “All finished, Miss Julia,” he said. He cast a furtive glance toward her father, busy behind his druggist’s counter. “Do you have something for me?”

  “If you have something for me.” Julia fetched a stack of colorful, chromolithographed cards from the pocket of her soda fountain apron and casually sorted through them. “What news of Mr. Corley today?”

  Another furtive look. “Mrs. Harrington told me, when I took her delivery of Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters to her, that the bounty hunter spent the night at her boardinghouse. Same as last night,” Patrick confided. His gaze followed the cards in her hands with a collector’s interest. “And this morning, he was at Cutter’s Restaurant, havin’ eggs and taters, when I took in a bottle of Lydia Pinkham’s Compound for Mrs. Cutter.”

  “He was? Did he seem all right to you?” She bit her lip, awaiting his answer.

  Patrick wrinkled his forehead. “All right?”

  “Yes. You know, cheerful. Happy?” Since Graham’s revelation—and sudden departure—from her house two days ago, Julia had become increasingly worried about him. She knew her family’s intrusion had wounded him…and the proud, pain-filled look on his face as he’d left haunted her still.

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. He looked fine to me. I guess.”

  “Truly?”

  “Sure.” The boy shrugged. “Saloonkeeper Cole over at the Last Chance says types like Mr. Corley are ornery at the best of times. The bounty hunter didn’t shoot nobody over his eggs not bein’ cooked right, if that’s what you mean.”

  Julia grinned. That would have to do for now, she decided, her mind somewhat at ease.

  In thanks, she fanned out the cards, watching as the richly illustrated images sifted through her fingers. Left at the Emporium by drummers and representatives of various companies, the cards were in fact advertisements, meant to be distributed to potential customers. They had become popular collectible items among children like Patrick, though…and Julia was a very reliable source.

  “I overheard Mr. Corley sayin’ he’d be heading out to the livery stable after breakfast,” Patrick added, still eyeballing the cards. “He’s probably there right now.”

  Grinning, Julia ruffled his hair. “Excellent spying, Patrick! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

  But I do know what I’ll do with a certain wayward bounty hunter, Julia thought. And once she’d handed over several coveted cards to a beaming Patrick, she set out to do exactly that.

  At the livery stable, Graham rolled his cheroot between his fingertips, watching a slender wisp of smoke curl from the thin cigar’s lighted end. All around him, local men discussed the business of the day, talking over feed prices and politics and all the latest news on who’d taken ill in Avalanche.

  ’Twas the most mundane conversation he’d been treated to since arriving in town.

  And all when he most needed something illicit, illegal and untoward, calling for a bounty hunter’s skills to bring about the proper justice. Did this milk-instead-of-whiskey place breed no ruffians, no criminal types? He could scarcely believe his poor luck.

  He’d already had time to see to his horse, groom the animal from forelock to fetlock as he did daily, and dole out an extra ration of oats for the restless bay gelding. All the while, the men of Avalanche had talked about quinine, hay bales, ague, President Cleveland’s veto of Civil War veterans’ pensions, and whether or not carbonated soda waters truly carried the medicinal and healthful benefits they claimed.

  This last reminded Graham of the Bennett family’s soda fountain and emporium…and of Julia. Remembrances of the way she’d felt, soft and delicate beside him as they’d stood together in her fancy foyer, nudged into his mind and refused to be shoved aside. She’d smiled at him. Talked with him. Responded to him—at least until he’d blurted the truth of his past—as a woman does to a man.

  Curiously. Needfully. Passionately.

  But he wasn’t the kind of man Julia needed. Not even for a sham courtship. He must have been daft to agree to such a nonsensical scheme in the first place. And Graham meant to remedy that mistake by leaving. Soon. Before the pull between them grew even deeper.

  Before he revealed even more of himself to her, and lost the will to go, altogether.

  ’Twas past time for action, he decided as the talk turned to hair tonics and the new barber at the shop inside Mulligan’s hotel. With a frown, Graha
m finished his cheroot and stubbed it out, then pocketed the remainder. If he couldn’t find work in this town, there was always another farther down the line. He’d just have to go out and find it.

  And if he felt unaccountably sad at doing so…well, ’twas probably nothing more than unease at remaining here so uncommonly long already, that he felt. Graham could credit nothing else. Not even once he’d turned to fetch his horse, and spotted through the stable windows a woman in yellow walking purposefully down Main Street.

  His heart jolted. Squinting, Graham looked again. It had to be Miss Julia Bennett. No other woman, save her, wore hats as gaudy as the overlarge fruit- and flower-bedecked one he spied. No other woman made her skirts sway quite so bewitchingly as she moved. No other woman would have dared call out to a roomful of men, every one of them surly and hunched at a female’s approach.

  “Yoo-hoo!” she called, waving the closed parasol in her hand. “Good morning, gentlemen. How are our menfolk, this fine day?”

  Graham couldn’t move. He stood there as though his boots were nailed to the dirt, and watched as Julia stopped in the doorway and looked from one to another of the men gathered around the livery stable’s potbellied stove. She hadn’t noticed him yet. He melted into the shadows behind him, and waited for an opportunity to slip away.

  After all…leaving was what he did best.

  “We’re fine, Miss Bennett,” muttered one of the men. Reluctantly, he tipped his hat. “And yourself?”

  “Very well, thank you.” Julia nodded.

  “You ain’t come to bring us more spittoons, have you?” asked another. “’Cause we don’t need ’em in here. I swear, if a man can’t spit in the dirt, where can he?”

  Murmured agreement was heard. Julia made a face, involuntarily glancing down at the hard-packed earth beneath her skirt hems. “No, I haven’t come for that. I—”

  “We don’t need no dancing lessons, neither,” interrupted one of the men, a volunteer from the local fire-house. “My Rebecca told me how you got the ladies all fired up about havin’ a Spring ball here in town. She ’bout wore me out, talking about it.”