Special Delivery Baby

by Sherri Shackelford

  “You were on a trial period as part of the dining room staff. Your actions this morning have nullified that agreement.”

  “Those children drove me to it.”

  “The children were rather unruly, yes. I agree with you. We cannot, however, compel them to scrub the floors.”

  “I don’t see why not.” Tomasina took a seat on a stool in the corner of the kitchen. “If someone makes the mess, they ought to clean it up.”

  “That’s not the way things work around here.”

  She lifted her chin. “It should be.”

  The moment the family of four had come through the door, two of the older boys had begun taunting her. They’d deliberately tossed crumbs on the floor when their father wasn’t looking. One of them had even tripped her. The little beast had pretended it was an accident. When a plate had mysteriously slid off the edge of the table, she’d had enough.

  Though she hadn’t boxed their little ears, she’d threatened the punishment. And she’d been more than willing to follow through on that threat.

  “You can’t go boxing people’s ears and threatening violence toward the patrons, Miss Stone.”

  The cook leaned over a vat of soup. The scent of chicken broth sent her stomach rumbling. The boys hadn’t been ornery enough for her heated reaction. She’d been short tempered of late. The conversation with Will had festered in her thoughts. The idea of him getting hitched to one of the mail-order brides had stuck in her craw. That was ridiculous. Of course he’d marry. He seemed the type of fellow who was building an empire. Folks who built empires needed a legacy, and children were an obvious solution. Her anger bubbled back to the surface.

  The cook glanced at her. “You’ll find something you’re good at, but working with people doesn’t suit you.”

  “You might be right.” Tomasina slumped on her perch on the kitchen stool and sighed. “It’s frustrating, you know? I’m already good at something. I’m good with animals. I know how to rope, ride and shoot a gun.”

  “Well, that’s a place to start.” The cook chucked her on the shoulder. “You’ll find something you enjoy. Preferably something that doesn’t require contact with the public. Keep looking.”

  “It’s no fair, being a woman,” she grumbled.

  Mrs. Foster pushed her way through the swinging doors into the kitchen then patted her hair into place. “What is it now? I was having a rest when Simon alerted me to another disturbance.”

  “I’m not cut out for work in the dining room,” Tomasina said.

  “I’m shocked. Shocked, I say.”

  “Me and the cook were trying to figure out if I was good at anything.”

  “You drove cattle before, I believe,” the older woman remarked. “There must be skill involved in that.”

  “Yeah. But who wants to see someone rope a calf? There’s no pay in that.”

  “I disagree. When Mr. Foster was alive, we attended a show in Abilene. Mr. Foster had a sister living there. Fussy woman. Anyway, they had a fellow who did tricks with a rope. He’d make it twirl around and jump in and out of the ring.”

  Tomasina’s eyes lit up with interest. “And people paid to see that?”

  “They most certainly did.”

  “Rope tricks are easy.”

  Tomasina and the other cowboys often tried to show up one another with their tricks. It had never occurred to her that someone might actually pay to see that dubious talent.

  “I don’t know,” she said, biting her lip. “I don’t think I can turn roping into a whole career. I’m not fit for anything respectable.”

  Mrs. Foster harrumphed. “Crying about your lot isn’t going to change things, young lady, that’s for certain. A body has to make their own way in this world, by and by. When Mr. Foster was alive, I never worked. After he passed, there simply wasn’t enough money. The children were grown and gone. They had families of their own. I read an advertisement for a housekeeper. I’d never been farther west than the Mississippi, but I figured I’d been comfortable for long enough. It was time for me to try something different. I don’t regret the decision.”

  She raised her eyebrows and tipped her head forward. “I don’t regret that decision even the past few days, when your employment here has been a singular challenge. I enjoyed seeing Mr. Daniels all trussed up. That lecherous old coot will think twice before he smacks another bottom. You must be good with a rope, because I don’t know how you managed to get the better of him.”

  Tomasina smothered a laugh. “I caught him by surprise.”

  “You’ll find your way, Miss Stone. Nothing ever stays the same. People think change is bad. Sometimes it is. But oftentimes change can open up a whole new world of possibilities.”

  Planting her chin on her hand, Tomasina sighed. There was a difference between choosing to make a change and being forced to change. Maybe she’d given up on riding as a drover too soon. Maybe she’d given up on convincing James of starting up their own outfit too soon. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

  Her hand strayed to her forehead. Recalling the gentle pressure of Will’s lips after the incident with Mr. Daniels, the strange feeling returned. That fluttering that began in her stomach and spread through her limbs.

  The gesture had meant nothing to him. A comforting peck. Yet the sensations he stirred lingered. Rubbing her hand against her cheek, she felt once more the rough wool of his coat when he’d held her at the drover camp. She closed her eyes and heard the beating of his heart against her ear.

  To him, she was nothing more than an annoyance. A nagging difficulty he’d yet to solve. One way or another, she’d solve her own problems.

  She’d redouble her efforts in locating a solution. Sometimes the best way out of a difficulty was to circle back around to the beginning.

  She knew right where to start.

  “You’re right, Mrs. Foster.” Tomasina stood and untied her apron. “I’m good at roping and riding. Roping and riding is what I should be doing.”

  “That’s the spirit, dearie.” Mrs. Foster pumped her fist. “What’s your plan?”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I have one!”

  Chapter Twelve

  Will tugged on his coat sleeves and straightened his collar. The planning committee had outdone themselves. A temporary stage had been constructed in the center of town. Lanterns had been strung from the upper beams, and red and white bunting decorated the lower railings.

  After the success of the county fair a few weeks back, the town council had planned a smaller, more intimate gathering for the business owners and townspeople. He’d initially been skeptical of hosting another event so soon after the fair, but the business leaders had been adamant. For the past two weeks they’d been busy on a construction project located in front of the bank at the corner of First and Eden Streets. The project had been shrouded in secrecy, and Will anticipated the reveal.

  Passing Booker & Son, he tipped his hat to Horace and Gus.

  Gus spat his tobacco and cackled. “Folks around these parts sure do like a party.”

  Will paused. “I didn’t notice you complaining when you won the horseshoe tournament at the last party.”

  Horace elbowed his friend. “Came in first and second, the two of us. I’d have won except the sun was in my eyes.”

  “The sun was in my eyes just as much,” Gus declared. “And it didn’t make me no never mind.”

  “Oh, shut up, you old coot. You know I’ve always been sensitive to the sun.”

  Will shook his head. These two never changed. They were always arguing and gossiping. They especially enjoyed sitting across from the jailhouse. Nothing made the two happier than watching a prisoner transfer.

  “Are you going to the dance this evening?” Will asked. “There should be a good turnout.”

  “Mebbe,” Horac
e said. “I was quite the dancer in my younger days.”

  “You were a dancer in your drinking days, anyway.” Gus chortled.

  “Haven’t touched a drop in twenty years.”

  “And we’re all grateful.” Gus threaded his fingers over his rounded stomach. “Any word on the next bride train?”

  “Arrangements have been made for the next twelve women,” Will replied. “We’ll run out of eligible bachelors before long.”

  “You’re turning Cowboy Creek into a regular thriving me-trop-o-lis.” Gus exaggerated each syllable.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “What are you going to do after that?”

  “I have an idea or two.” Will leaned one shoulder against the boardwalk support beam and stared down Eden Street. “There’s an election next year. Might consider running for governor.”

  “You don’t think small, do you, Mr. Canfield? Or should I call you Governor Canfield?”

  “Somebody has to run for governor. Why not me?”

  “Fair enough, fair enough.” Horace rocked back. “A man like you always has a plan. You ought to be more like Gus and me. Just float on the wind like a feather.”

  “More like a buffalo,” Gus badgered his friend. “Your backside is practically nailed to that chair. You only move for breakfast, supper and dinner. Some feather.”

  “No more talk of the future.” Will held up his hands in surrender. If he let those two keep blabbering, they’d talk his ear off. “Tonight, I plan on enjoying the evening. Nothing more, nothing less. You should do the same.”

  The two kept up their good-natured bickering long after he walked away. Their voices drifted above the familiar sounds of the thriving town. Crossing the street, Will paused in front of Aunt Mae’s boardinghouse and savored the wafting scent of fried chicken. While he enjoyed the fare served at the restaurant in the Cattleman Hotel, no one prepared comfort food quite like Aunt Mae.

  Distracted by the enticing aroma, he nearly collided with Prudence Haywood as she exited the newspaper office. She caught sight of him and started, clutching the cameo at her throat. Will narrowed his gaze. Two weeks before, the Murdoch Gang had robbed the church in broad daylight. They’d stolen Leah’s wedding ring, Pippa’s ruby earrings and the men’s wallets. He was certain Prudence had gotten her cameo stolen, as well.

  “Mrs. Haywood.” He paused, leaning on his walking stick.

  She had a way of carrying herself that left him on edge, though he couldn’t put his finger on the source of his unease. With no way of avoiding her, he tipped his hat in greeting.

  She was one of the brides from the first train. Neither she nor the reverend’s daughter had courted any of the men in town. When Prudence had immediately taken a job at the newspaper, he’d thought there was something brewing between her and D.B. Burrows, the newspaper editor. Yet weeks had passed with no sign of a romantic attachment between the two.

  She was a full head shorter than Will, with wavy auburn hair and hazel eyes. He couldn’t help but picture a cap of wild curls and stunning green eyes. While Tomasina was pure spitfire, Prudence was much less animated. She had one of those faces that tended to look disagreeable.

  “Lovely evening,” he greeted her. She’d been widowed. He really should be more charitable in his thinking. The war had taken so many men. Perhaps she simply wasn’t ready to marry again. “Is Mr. Burrows available?”

  As though prompted by the inquiry, D.B. appeared in the doorway. He flipped the sign to read Closed, stepped outside and set about locking the door.

  “Mr. Canfield,” he said, throwing back his shoulders. “Come to play king of the party, have you?”

  Will stifled a groan.

  Though he carried a slight paunch, D.B. dressed sharply and was well-spoken. Charming, even, in an oily sort of way. The man’s appearance didn’t help the slightly unpleasant impression he inspired. He looked like a black-and-white daguerreotype come to life. He tended to wear dark suits with bright, white shirts. His bushy dark muttonchops highlighted his pale complexion, and his jet-black hair only emphasized his disquieting façade.

  Since D.B. had taken over as editor of the newspaper, there’d been a prickly quality about the man. He’d seemed eager enough when they’d hired him some months back. Since that time, the newspaper editorials concerning Cowboy Creek had been less than flattering. While Will respected the man’s right to organize the paper as he pleased, the stories had lacked balance recently.

  “There are no kings in America, or hadn’t you gotten the word?” Will kept his tone neutral. There was always a challenging edge about D.B. “I’m here to enjoy the festivities. Same as everyone else.”

  “And yet we have you to thank for the success of the town, don’t we? Without you, Cowboy Creek is just another watering hole in the middle of nowhere.”

  “We have the Union Pacific depot to thank for that.” Will shrugged. “It was the luck of the draw.”

  Out West, having a railroad depot almost guaranteed the success of a town. Though a few stagecoaches remained in operation, that mode of transportation was becoming a thing of the past. Railroad cars were full of untapped potential. They were pulling the country together like a thousand threads, and he’d be a fool to squander that potential.

  Mr. Burrows puffed up like a bantam hen guarding an egg. “I don’t believe in luck. Wouldn’t surprise me if a few palms were greased in the process.”

  “Not by me,” Will said easily.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d heard rumors of corruption surrounding the Union Pacific railroad. Towns lived and died based on the route of railroad lines and the placement of depots. When there were great sums of money in the balance, bribery always thrived.

  “We won the depot,” he reiterated, “fair and square. This route was the most direct.”

  “If you say so.”

  Mrs. Haywood and the man exchanged a glance. Fidgeting, she touched the cameo at her throat once more. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the two of them had met each other before settling in Cowboy Creek. They’d certainly formed a comfortable working relationship in a short amount of time. They also had a silent way of signaling each other.

  Yet if they knew one another, why would Mrs. Haywood travel as a prospective bride? Why hide their relationship—whatever it may be? Obviously he was letting his imagination run away with him.

  D.B. flipped back his suit coat and stuck one hand in his pocket. “The new wave of prosperity must suit you. You own half the buildings in town, after all.”

  Since the man was determined to be rude, Will said, “You’ve been running a lot of front-page stories about the Murdoch Gang lately.”

  “They robbed a church. Zeb is on his deathbed in the jailhouse.” The man guffawed. “That’s news. My job is selling papers.”

  “Might have been nice if you printed a story about the success of the county fair.”

  “Except it wasn’t really a county fair, was it?” the gentleman retorted. “You and your lot decided Cowboy Creek was the county center. Never mind about everyone else.”

  “I’d think you’d be pleased at the success of the town. It’s your home, after all.”

  “What an honor it is to live here.” D.B. flushed. “Positively warms my heart to be a part of such a thriving community.”

  Prudence snickered.

  Will glanced between the two. There was most definitely an undercurrent he didn’t understand. Was D.B. simply capitalizing on the recent troubles caused by the Murdoch Gang to sell his papers, or was there something more sinister at work? With the ever-present danger hovering around them, this town sure didn’t need any more negative publicity.

  He’d speak with Daniel and Noah at the next opportunity and make a few inquiries about the man. And Prudence, as well. Following his instincts had served him w
ell in the past.

  His instincts called for a change of subject. “Are the two of you attending the dance this evening?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” D.B. offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I paid ten dollars for the privilege.”

  “The event is free.” Will tilted his head. “I don’t follow.”

  “Remmy Hagermann demanded ten dollars from all the businesses in town. They’re putting together a presentation for you, Daniel and Noah. Didn’t you wonder what all the fuss was about? They’re building some sort of monument in your honor with a plaque and everything.”

  Will smothered his annoyance. “Not much of a surprise anymore now, is it?”

  “I hope I didn’t ruin the grand unveiling.” D.B. laid a hand over his chest and assumed an expression of mock remorse. “At least now you have time to prepare a speech.”

  The man clearly wanted a rise out of him.

  “Your donation is greatly appreciated. I’ll be sure and call you out personally.”

  “You do that.”

  The cameo caught his attention once more. “What a lovely piece of jewelry, Mrs. Haywood. Is it new? I thought your broach was stolen.”

  Prudence’s mouth opened and closed, giving her the appearance of a fish out of water. “I hid it when the robbers arrived.”

  “But you claimed it was stolen. I was certain I heard you lamenting the loss.”

  She’d done more than lament. She’d demanded reparations for the lack of security in town. An order she’d made in no uncertain terms.

  “The other ladies had lost their jewelry.” Her eyes flashed with challenge. “I was embarrassed I’d hidden mine.”

  “There’s no law against hiding a piece of jewelry from outlaws,” D.B. blustered. “If you’d been protecting the town properly, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “I’m pleased Mrs. Haywood was able to save such a precious heirloom.” Will tipped his hat once more. “Mr. Burrows.”

  There was definitely something odd about those two. As he pondered the strange encounter, he caught sight of Amos Godwin and his heavily pregnant wife, Opal.