by Merry Farmer
Something of that self-satisfied pride must have been obvious in his expression. Pickering cleared his throat and met Rupert’s eyes. “I’m not in love with her, you know.”
Guilty prickles broke out down Rupert’s back, and he felt his face flush. “I never said you were.”
Pickering fixed Rupert with a flat stare. “I was, years ago. But mostly because we shared a harrowing experience. Emotions can get confused in times like those. I do care about her, even though I disagree with her decision to keep that place of hers running as a brothel. If she wants to help unfortunate women, then good for her. But she doesn’t need to let them indulge in sin while she does it,” he finished with sudden vehemence.
“Maybe she doesn’t share your prudish standards,” Rupert found himself arguing back. “Maybe she thinks it does a town good for its young men to have a way to scratch their itches if they don’t have a wife.” His face flared even hotter. Was he really defending Bonnie for the very thing he’d been holding against her for years?
All he knew was that it suddenly didn’t seem like anybody’s business what Bonnie and her girls did behind closed doors.
The switch in his thinking didn’t soothe things between him and George Pickering at all.
“Look, I can’t do anything about the choices that Bonnie or those girls make,” Pickering continued to argue, “even though I’ve tried to show them the right path. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let Bonnie throw herself to the wolves. If you’ve got an idea to keep her from marrying Bonneville, then I’m open to hearing it.”
Rupert’s brow flew up. He didn’t like George all that much, but clearly they were on the same side. If he wanted to save Bonnie, Pickering was probably his best ally.
“She can’t marry Bonneville. He won’t treat her right,” he said.
Pickering snorted. “He hasn’t been treating her right for years. But I will say, she’s got a way of handling him that no one else in town has been able to manage.”
“Are you saying that it’s a good thing for her to be with him?”
“No, only that she holds her own and keeps him from causing more trouble than he already does.”
Rupert scowled. “I love her.”
Pickering seemed unmoved. “I don’t think love is Bonnie’s first priority.”
“Every woman’s first priority is love.”
Pickering shook his head. “Bonnie’s first priority is her girls. Has been since the night I helped her drag several of them out of a burning building.”
Rupert had heard the whole story of how Bonnie and Pickering met, knew the significance of their relationship, knew Pickering had given her money. Bonnie had told him everything during their argument four years ago, on his first trip to Haskell. But being reminded of it brought a fresh wave of sorrow and regret all the same.
“She has sacrificed her life more than a few times to make sure those girls have something better than the circumstances they’ve fallen into,” Pickering went on. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I have to admit, I admire her for that. But she’s taken sacrifice too far this time.”
“I’ll say,” Rupert grumbled.
“Love isn’t going to make a lick of difference to her if she doesn’t have the money she needs for those girls,” Pickering went on.
“Then why don’t you give her some, like you did the first time?” Rupert rounded on him.
“I’ve given her far more than I should,” Pickering snapped back. “But she knows that my duties lie elsewhere now. I have a congregation to support, other deserving poor to help.” He didn’t leave it there. “The only way you’re going to get Bonnie to change her mind about Bonneville is to come up with the money to finance her Place instead. Do you think you can do that?” The question was as much a dare as it was an inquiry.
But the answer was no. No, Rupert couldn’t do that. King Cole Construction was doing well in Everland, but only half the money was his, and that was needed to reinvest in the business, helping it to grow. It would take a heck of a lot more buildings going up for Rupert to earn the kind of money Bonnie needed.
“I’m not willing to give up,” he said, in spite of the weight of impossibility pressing down on him.
Pickering surprised him by barking, “Good. It’s about time you lived up to your responsibilities as a husband.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Rupert growled.
“I think you know.” Pickering narrowed his eyes, staring Rupert down. “You’re just lucky I didn’t—”
Rupert blinked. “Didn’t what?”
Pickering backed off. He turned away, stepping over to the decorated podium and picking up a Bible. “Nothing.”
It wasn’t nothing, but Rupert was smart enough to see that the discussion was over. And he still didn’t have a clue what to do to stop Bonnie from making the biggest mistake of her life.
“Will you help me convince Bonnie to give up her plans to marry Bonneville?” He asked, stretching his arms wide in a humble plea.
Pickering glanced back to him. “If you come up with a way to convince Bonnie she can protect and support her girls without Bonneville’s money, then yes, I’ll help you in any way I can.”
“Any ideas what might work?” he asked, more frustrated with the conversation than relieved by it.
Pickering started toward the door to his office. He paused as he reached it to say, “If I had an idea, don’t you think I would have used it by now?” He didn’t wait for Rupert’s reply. He marched through the door, then shut it behind him.
Rupert puffed out a breath, uncertain whether the whole thing had been a waste of time or a huge help. There didn’t seem to be any middle ground. He didn’t have any more ideas now than when he’d walked into the church, so, hands thrust back into his pockets, he walked out again.
He spent the next few hours walking around Haskell and its nearby ranches, waiting for an idea to jump up and hit him in the head. That blasted pencil was still in his pocket, and he found himself twiddling it through his fingers as he walked. Money. What he needed was money. That in itself was as aggravating as hellfire. Love should be enough. Love should be the force that won the day. He loved Bonnie, and now he was convinced that she did, or at least could, love him again too. Gol darnit, why wasn’t that enough?
In the end, it was hunger and exhaustion that drove him back to The Cattleman Hotel. Two sleepless nights were catching up with him as he dragged himself up the porch stairs and into the lobby. He thought about getting a table in the restaurant, but really he just wanted a hot lunch and a long nap. Most of the hotel staff seemed preoccupied with their work, so the only person around that he figured could tell him if eating in his room was even possible was Mr. Gunn. Gunn sat in a corner of the lobby with a rich-looking, somewhat rotund man and a black-haired woman in her middle years. A small table sat between them, littered with papers.
“Excuse me.” Rupert nodded to the woman first, then the other man as he interrupted whatever business they were engaged in. “I don’t mean to intrude.”
“Mr. Cole.” Gunn jumped to his feet, wearing a wide smile. “I’d like to introduce you to the town’s founder and chief patron, Howard Haskell, and his daughter, Mrs. Lucy Faraday.”
The last thing Rupert wanted in his current state was to be introduced to a pair of important strangers, but he managed to smile and extend a hand to Howard Haskell. “Pleased to meet you. Ma’am.” He nodded toward Mrs. Faraday, then shook her hand. Glancing back to Gunn he said, “I just wanted to ask you about getting lunch in my room.”
“Nonsense!” Howard boomed loud enough to start a headache at the base of Rupert’s skull. “You can have your lunch with us.”
A pained smile made its way onto Rupert’s face. “I’m much obliged for the invitation, sir, but if it’s all the same—”
“We were just discussing plans for the next phase of my father’s building project,” Mrs. Faraday interrupted.
Rupert’s protest died
on his lips. A flash of hope flared in his chest. “Building project?”
“Yes,” Gunn answered. “Howard has made it a policy to build a house for each of his ranch hands who send away for a mail-order bride from a place called Hurst Home in Nashville, Tennessee.”
Before Rupert had a chance to feel an old stab of regret over his own mail-order bride experience, Howard went on with, “It’s been a capital enterprise. Several of my lads have taken me up on the offer, Luke Chance, Cody Montrose—even though it was his brother Mason who ended up marrying Wendy while Cody married a different girl—and Bronson Green.”
“I still think Mr. Green only sought employment with you last spring because he heard about your offer to build a house for any man who sent away for a bride from Hurst Home,” Mrs. Faraday added, one eyebrow arched.
“Yes, but regardless,” Howard went on, “it’s been the perfect carrot to convince young men to settle down and raise families in Haskell, and I intend to expand those efforts.”
The amount of enthusiasm pouring off of Howard was more than Rupert could fully take in at that moment, but he still managed to smile and say, “That sounds like a good idea.” And maybe one that could provide the kind of new life Bonnie was looking to provide for her girls. He wondered if Bonnie had thought of that.
“We were just going over some designs with Mr. Gunn,” Mrs. Faraday rushed on, “and, well, this is going to sound silly, if not plain crazy, but a bill fell out of his pocket with your signature on it. I took one look and thought, ‘now there’s the signature of a man I’d like to do business with.’”
“Which reminded me that the same person who told me about your connection to Bonnie,” Gunn picked up the story, a discreet neutrality to his expression, “mentioned that you were in construction in Everland.”
“And that decided me,” Howard finished. “Son.” He slapped Rupert’s shoulder, nearly knocking him sideways. “I’d like you to draw up a few house designs for me.”
Rupert blinked. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” Howard nodded. “A signature like yours shows talent, style. I want to see what you can do.” He gestured to the table.
Rupert glanced from Howard to Gunn to Mrs. Faraday. “Right now?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Faraday clasped her hands to her chest.
Shaking his head, Rupert said, “You want me to draw a design for a house for you right now?”
All three of them nodded enthusiastically. It was the most mad-capped, inexplicable thing that had happened to him all day. And it hadn’t exactly been a normal day.
“Well, all right,” he said doubtfully, letting Howard steer him into one of the chairs at the table. “But I have to tell you, it’s usually my partner, Odysseus King, who does the actual architectural drawings. I mostly just build what he designs.”
“But I’m sure you’re a marvelous designer yourself.” Mrs. Faraday pushed aside the loose pages of drawings, turning one over so that Rupert could draw on the blank side.
Rupert searched the table for something to draw and write with, but in the end the only implement available was the pencil in his pocket. So far, that pencil had brought him a mountain of luck, so he took it out and began to sketch.
Skipper was the designer. Skipper had always been the designer. But as Rupert put lines on the paper and connected them using his memories of Skip’s past drawings and the information he’d learned over the years, something like a floorplan and an exterior design began to take shape. He didn’t know where the ideas came from—he was probably just remembering Skip’s houses they had built in Everland in the past—but there they were.
Howard hummed in surprise and appreciation as he looked over Rupert’s shoulder. Mrs. Faraday ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ a couple of times. Even Gunn declared, “I like that,” a time or two. For Rupert’s part, it was almost as if the ideas were flowing straight from the locked rooms of his mind to the pencil without him thinking too much about them in the meantime.
“Skipper’s the one you really want to talk to,” he said as he finished filling the page and set the pencil down. “Mr. King, that is. I think I’m just copying his work here.”
“It’s good work, though.” Howard picked up the paper and studied it. “I like how you’ve included a modern lavatory and plumbing.”
“Did I?” Rupert stood and craned his neck to look at what he’d drawn by Howard’s side.
“Yes, yes, this is exactly what I wanted to see,” Howard boomed. He slapped Rupert’s back again. “I knew it was a good idea to ask you to sketch for us. I have a good feeling about you.”
“So do I,” Mrs. Faraday added, as enthusiastic as her father.
“Strangely enough, so do I.” Gunn blinked and looked more confused than anything.
Rupert thought the whole thing was about as barmy as a three-legged goat, but he kept his mouth shut.
“I’ll tell you what,” Howard said, handing the drawing to his daughter and facing Rupert. “If you can produce a simple drawing as brilliant as this, then I bet you and this ‘Skipper’ friend of yours could do even more impressive work.”
“I suppose so.” Rupert shrugged. Another part of him was ready to give himself a swift kick in the pants for underselling his and Skipper’s talents.
“If you can provide me with an array of housing designs by Monday—that’s only a few days, I know—then I will consider hiring your company—”
“King Cole Construction,” Rupert filled in, hope rising by the second.
“King Cole Construction,” Howard repeated, “to build these homes. And let me assure you, I pay top dollar for work well done.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.” Really, he didn’t. The prospect of a lucrative building contract right there in Haskell could have been the exact thing he needed to convince Bonnie to abandon her foolish plan to marry Bonneville. There was a fair chance he could earn the money she would need for her girls and that he could stay close to her while he did it. It was eerily perfect.
There had to be a catch.
No sooner did suspicion reach out and grab him than his pencil suddenly rolled off the table. For no good reason. He bent to pick it up. That gave him a moment to think. Even if he didn’t manage to win the building contract with Howard, it was a step in the right direction. He would have a legitimate reason to stay in Haskell for a while, and he would be able to show Bonnie that he was serious about winning her. Maybe it would give him the chance to really and truly figure out what the big deal was with her business, how she really helped her girls. All he knew was that it couldn’t hurt.
“All right, Mr. Haskell.”
“Howard, please. Everybody here just calls me Howard.”
“Howard.” Rupert nodded. “I’ll try to come up with a set of designs for you by Monday.”
“Excellent.” Howard smacked him on the back so hard he stumbled. “Now let’s get you that lunch you wanted.”
Chapter 10
Bonnie expected a fight. After the way Rex had spoken to her in front of Rupert, after the way he’d spoken to Rupert himself, she prepared herself for round after round of verbal boxing with her irritating, aggravating, mind-consuming possibly ex-husband. She made lists of arguments in her mind, all the reasons why he should just let her go so that she could continue with the mission she knew she’d been born for. She was ready for him…also ready for him to give up and leave town the way he had four years ago.
Nothing happened. Not one way or the other. Rupert stayed in Haskell, but not once in the days that followed did he confront her, pester her, plead with her, or attempt to change her mind.
“What is he doing over there?” she whispered to Wendy Montrose as she stood by the window of Wendy’s dress shop, being fitted for her wedding dress.
Wendy glanced past Bonnie’s shoulder, where she was pinning a fall of lace. “Looks like he’s sketching something.”
“Yes, but what?” Bonnie squinted, as if that could make everything clear. Rupert stood in the
middle of Main Street, staring at buildings with an assessing eye. He carried a clipboard and occasionally glanced down to write or draw something with a pencil. “He has to be up to something.”
Wendy turned her away from the window so that she could continue pinning lace. “I’ve never known you to take such a keen interest in strangers passing through town.”
Heat filled Bonnie’s cheeks. “It’s not interest, it’s just…” She let her words drop. Anything more she said would most certainly tip her hand and alert her friend to the fact that Rupert wasn’t some random stranger after all. She would betray the fact that it wasn’t just idle curiosity that led her to wonder about Rupert, it was a touch of wounded pride. He was there to win her back, after all. Shouldn’t he be trying harder?
She tried to shake that ridiculous notion as the week continued and plans for her wedding advanced. Like it or not, there was a ceremony to prepare for and a reception to plan. Part of her wished she could send to Everland for Meri Carpenter to come help her. She’d felt an instant connection with the woman. But that, along with everything else, felt impossible. It seemed entirely fitting that even with the cold snap that filled the air, Rex insisted that they hold the reception outside on the church’s lawn so that everyone in town and several of his prominent friends from the Wyoming Stock Grower’s Association could attend.
But the church yard was right next to the baseball field, and even though Rupert hadn’t attempted to talk to her in the past few days, he had apparently made other friends.
“Is he just going to sit there all day?” she asked after staring at him for far longer than she should while discussing reception details with Pearl and Lucy Faraday.
“Who?” Lucy asked, lowering the two tablecloth swatches she’d been studying.
“Him,” Pearl answered, a teasing light in her eyes as she nodded across the field to Rupert.
