"Distracted?" That was kinder than what he wanted to say.
Nate let his gaze roam to the mountains in the distance, which were just visible on the horizon.
Rob swallowed hard. "An event like her almost drowning can cause a sort of forced intimacy. You saw her in a situation where she was weak. You rescued her, and she was grateful. But does that mean...?"
Nate continued to stare at nothing.
"Maybe you're right," Nate said after a long time.
Of course he was.
But that didn't mean he wasn't disappointed, for his friend's sake.
* * *
A month after the barn raising, Janie huddled alone in the bed she shared with Liza.
It was happening again.
You chased my son like a brazen hussy.
Seductress.
You have shamed us.
"Janie?"
Liza's quiet question shook Janie out of her reverie but didn't do anything to soothe her breaking heart.
Liza stood in the bedroom doorway, her shock apparent as she took in Janie's appearance. No doubt her hair had come out of its pins and her face was blotchy from the tears she'd already shed.
"What happened? Mama sent me up to check on you."
Janie shook her head, swiping at the tears she couldn't seem to stop.
Liza closed the bedroom door and sat on the end of the bed. "Is it Nathan? Is he hurt or—"
"He's gone," Janie whispered.
Liza's brows wrinkled. "What do you mean, gone?"
Janie tossed Nathan's letter to the end of the bed, where her sister picked it up.
The same young boy who'd brought her Mindy's supper invitation weeks ago had brought another missive. Thank goodness she'd excused herself upstairs to read it.
She closed her eyes and buried her face on her bent knees again.
She didn't need to read it to remember its contents. The words were emblazoned on her memory.
* * *
Miss Bennett,
* * *
After much soul-searching, I believe the two of us have different hopes for our future. With bitter emotion, I must tell you that I cannot call on you socially any longer.
I will be delivering my sister to St. Louis and will see her settled there. I can only hope my absence will allow for any emotions to run their course and that we may resume a simple friendship upon my return.
* * *
Nathan Bingley
* * *
Liza looked up from the note, her eyes sympathetic. "It says he's coming back."
He might be returning, but he didn't want her.
She'd been so careful to ensure no one heard of the inappropriateness of his rescue. Careful to stay out of Mama's way, so that Mama couldn't push him to make declarations he didn't really mean.
And it had all been for nothing.
He didn't want her.
She didn't want to be here when he returned. She couldn't bear to face him.
...the two of us have different hopes for our future.
Humiliation surged. Did he know how much she'd fancied him?
But obviously he didn't feel the same.
She must find a way to escape Calvin, at least for a short time. Maybe then she could face him.
The bed shifted, and Liza sat beside her and slid one arm around Janie's shoulders as she cried.
Chapter 14
Mrs. Collins suffered difficult delivery. Stop. Send Liza to mind the store. Stop.
* * *
Two little lines in a telegraph, and Papa had urged Liza to pack up and get on the next north-bound train.
She'd argued that she should stay. Janie was due home in a week from the extended visit she'd made to Aunt Myrtle in Omaha. Liza couldn't forget Janie's near-silent tears when she'd received Nathan's note. Liza couldn't understand what had happened.
She'd promised herself that she would help Janie find happiness. But all that had resulted in encouraging a relationship with Nathan was heartache. She was not the kind of sister she wanted to be.
William Collins's telegraph had arrived yesterday. Today Liza had ridden on the steam train for eight hours, and now she'd been delivered to the station.
Cottonwood Cove, where she'd grown up, was roughly the size of Calvin. As a young girl, she'd been to Cheyenne once, and that had been in the company of her family.
The bustle of Sheridan's train station, even at the evening hour, transfixed her. She clutched her satchel against her midsection as she scanned the station platform for any familiar face.
She couldn’t help remembering that Rob Darcy’s ranch was located near Sheridan. How near, she didn’t know. Surely, in a city like this, they would never cross paths.
The passengers who'd disembarked along with her had already dispersed.
No Mr. Collins.
And apparently, he hadn't sent anyone after her, either.
Papa had pressed several coins into her hand just before she'd left the Calvin station. She'd hidden in the washroom aboard the train and tucked them away in an inside pocket in her dress.
Should she look for a hotel? Try to find Mr. Collins's store?
No doubt he was frantic about Charlotte and the baby, but couldn't he have sent more direct instructions?
If this had been Calvin, a young woman alone wouldn't have made it off the platform without multiple offers of help. But this wasn't Calvin, and as she left the station, no one even seemed to notice her.
Outside, horses and wagons bustled past. She held her satchel in one hand and smoothed her other hand down the front of her dress, trying to calm the butterflies that took flight.
The store.
She needed to find the store, and then Mr. Collins would give her further instructions. Like where to find lodging.
She went back into the station, feeling a fool, and waited behind three people before taking a turn at the ticket window to ask the attendant the location of the Collins's Leather Goods store. She knew they lived above the store, because she and Charlotte had commiserated about street noise during their visit to Calvin.
Repeating the directions in her mind, she set out on foot. Darkness was beginning to fall, and she wrapped her coat close to ward off the evening's chill.
Twenty minutes later, her feet were aching and her arms as limp as noodles from carrying her bag such a distance, but she rapped neatly on the door of Collins Leather Goods, as the store had closed for the night, and the door was locked. The storefront was sandwiched between two other stores—also closed—and she didn't see any other way inside. Her feet throbbed, and she didn't want to walk all the way down the sidewalk to see if there was a back entrance.
She didn't bother to disguise her curiosity and stared unabashedly in the store windows on either side of the central door. Mr. Collins had arranged boots neatly on a white tablecloth. Just boots. Their price tags were hidden beneath each pair instead of displayed atop them like her father insisted on at home.
That was a neat trick, no doubt designed to invite interested parties inside to find out the price—and to give the shopkeeper the chance to make a sale. Perhaps she could find some good in this trip, though she wouldn't be there for Janie when her sister returned. But maybe this was a chance to learn some tricks that would help the store.
When no one answered her knock, she banged. The evening's chill was seeping down the back of her coat.
The street was empty except some sort of eatery on the corner, where light and voices spilled out onto the street. A shudder of unease slid through her.
She banged again. Did Sheridan have a hospital? If Mrs. Collins had been in danger during her delivery, could they be there?
If the Collins's weren't at home, what would she do? She didn't know anyone else in Sheridan.
Finally, she saw movement inside the store. A shadow moving behind the counter. A candle flared, lighting Mr. Collins's face, and she sagged with relief.
"We're closed," he called out.
"Mr. Collins!" she cried
, afraid he would leave her out here.
Thankfully, the light moved closer, and she got an even better look at him through the glass.
He'd been a consummate professional in Calvin, but now he wore shirtsleeves, and his hair was slightly mussed.
"It's Liza Bennett," she said through the glass, because he still hesitated and probably couldn't see her with the flickering candlelight reflecting against the darkened glass.
"Liza!"
She heard his relief through the door.
He fumbled with a set of keys and bobbled his candle before he got the door open.
"I'm surprised to see you,” he said. “I expected a return wire from your father. Come in, come in."
She followed him through the dark store, careful not to bump against anything. Then through a storeroom and up a narrow set of stairs, where he opened a door and ushered her into a cozy apartment.
She stepped into a small, open kitchen with a potbellied stove and a narrow table with two chairs. The sitting area was beyond it, though its sofa was covered in white cloth diapers. Hopefully clean.
A doorway was open. It must be their bedroom, and a thin voice called out. "Who was it, William?"
He strode to the door, motioning her to follow him. "Just the person we needed. Liza Bennett."
Liza left her satchel in the sitting room and peered into the bedroom. A lamp on the bedside table gave off enough light that she could see how very pale Charlotte was against the bedsheets. A small cradle rested beside the bed, where a dark head was visible among the swaddled blankets.
One of Liza's friends from home, Verity Campbell, had had her first child last summer, so Liza knew better than to make a peep.
"Oh, Liza." Charlotte's eyes welled with tears, and a momentary panic gripped Liza by the throat. Liza went to the bed and exchanged a gentle hug with her newfound friend.
At Charlotte's insistence, she sat carefully on the end of the bed, her skirts nearly touching the cradle.
Mr. Collins stood in the doorway, shifting on his feet. He looked uncertain, as if he had no idea what to do with her.
"I insisted William wire your father," Charlotte whispered, clutching Liza's hand. "The birth was...not easy." Even now, she let out a tiny gasp and pressed her hand to her midsection before shifting in the bed.
Liza didn't know whether to jump up or to stay.
"I'm so grateful you came," Charlotte whispered. Her eyes filled again, and she laughed at Liza's wide-eyed stare. "The doctor said my emotions will stabilize in a few weeks." She gave a soggy hiccup. "I hope so."
"I'm not a nurse," Liza whispered, terrified Charlotte was going to ask her to stay and look after the baby.
But it was Mr. Collins who said quietly, "We can't afford to close the store, not for a week or longer while Charlotte recovers. Your father spoke highly of your skill with customers and with the ledgers, and we'd be deeply indebted to you if you'd run things downstairs while I stay with Charlotte."
She must rethink her opinion of Mr. Collins. He’d been all business while in Calvin. But watching him now, it was obvious he cared deeply about his wife.
"I'll be available should you have a question without a simple answer," he said quickly when she didn’t immediately respond.
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'll mind the store for you. But today had been a long day. Where will I stay?"
Charlotte's eyes widened. "Of course. William, you must take her over to Maisey's." To Liza she said, "Maisey was a friend of William's mother. She has one daughter and a large house. She rents out her spare room, and I know she'll welcome you."
Chapter 15
Janie's trip to visit Aunt Myrtle was cut short when Auntie M's pen pal got sick. Myrtle bundled Janie on the train home and made her own arrangements to travel to New Jersey.
The three-week-long visit had been a badly-needed distraction. But every mile the train traveled toward Calvin seemed to make the voices in Janie's head louder. Hussy. Seductress.
She couldn't focus on the book in her lap. She stared out the window, but the scenery passing didn't catch her interest either.
At the stop in Cheyenne, passengers disembarked and boarded. She watched the activity absently.
And then Nathan Bingley boarded the train.
He'd entered the car from the door in front; she sat near the rear, which gave her a clear view as he looked for a seat.
She wanted to sink into the floor. Or maybe hide her face in the book currently resting in her lap. But she sat frozen, unable to look away.
He looked pale, drawn. Pronounced lines around his eyes made it seem as if he might be ill.
His eyes skated around the compartment. There were several empty seats—including one next to her.
Please God, don't let him sit there.
His eyes met hers. He stopped in the aisle, one hand clutching a seat back.
He nodded slightly. And then sat, facing away.
Nearly half a train car separated them.
If she'd held out any hope that he'd want to rekindle their friendship when he returned to Calvin, it was obliterated in that moment.
He'd seen her and chosen to sit elsewhere.
Her hands shook as she opened her book again. She stared at it without seeing.
She felt near tears as the conductor moved up the aisle, checking tickets. She considered asking if there were any available seats in the next car. With still a day and a half of travel along this line, perhaps being out of Nathan's sight would calm her nerves.
But the words froze behind her lips, the conductor passed by, and she was stuck.
She should be relieved that Mr. Bingley hadn't taken the seat next to her. If he had, she'd have had to speak to him.
But the thought was small comfort.
The morning dragged, minutes seeming like hours, hours like years.
Several times, she heard a wracking cough from Nathan's seat. It was bad enough that she found herself lifting her eyes, no matter how fiercely she told herself to ignore the man.
Lunch was a quick stop at a Harvey House. She was jostled by passengers as she disembarked the train. The mess hall was crowded and noisy. She tried not to look for Nathan but did anyway. She didn't see him anywhere. Had he stayed on the train?
What food she could force down lodged in her stomach like lead.
She determined to board a different passenger car—there were two—after the quick meal, but she was near the back of the crowd, and by the time she'd gotten to the platform, she was in danger of missing the train completely. The whistle blew, blasting her ears with sound as she stepped onto the train.
Nathan was there, still in his seat midway up the car.
She sank into a seat nearest the door. She’d get a blast of hot, dusty air each time they stopped, but she didn't dare try for something closer to the man who didn't want her.
The clickety-clack of the rails lulled her into a drowse during the heat of the afternoon. But a loud hacking cough woke her with a jarring start. Nathan.
The conductor moved through the compartment, announcing the next two stops. They were coming up on Cottonwood Cove.
The town where Albert and his mother lived. Where she'd been treated with such contempt over what had been an innocent mistake on her part. She'd been so distraught that she couldn't eat. Couldn't leave the house. And Mama had convinced Papa to uproot the entire family to move to Calvin.
As far as she was concerned, they couldn't pass by quickly enough.
Nathan coughed again.
Was it her imagination, or was his cough worsening? The dry hacking sound had turned wetter.
As a child, Kitty had once come down with croup. She'd nearly died from the sickness. Janie could still remember being awake in her bed into the middle of the night, watching Mama tend Kitty. Being so afraid she would die.
Nathan's cough was beginning to sound just the same.
* * *
Nathan should've stayed in Cheyenne and found a doctor.
> His stubbornness might be the death of him. The cough that he'd developed in St. Louis had worsened with each mile, and now he felt as if his lungs were filled with the smoky, sooty air from the car's boiler. Each breath burned. Chills wracked his body.
He'd lost two seat mates. No doubt his worsening cough had scared them off.
The conductor called for a stop, but the fuzziness in Nathan's head made it impossible for him to understand the words. Was this a stop for a watering station, or a town?
Janie was on the train. If he could marshal his strength, perhaps he could walk back to her and ask for her help. She was a kind soul, wasn't she? She might overlook that awful letter he'd sent and help him.
But his neck felt rubbery, like it wouldn't support his head, and he had to lean back against his seat.
It had grown dark outside, and he strained his eyes trying to see through the reflection on the window. If there was a town out there, it was small enough that he couldn't make out any lights from this distance.
Another bout of shivers wracked him, and he closed his eyes, trying to rally the strength to do something to help himself.
And then there was motion next to him. Someone sat on the seat beside him. A she someone, because her skirts brushed his knee.
He pried his eyes open. Through vision now gone hazy, he saw hope. He smiled. "Dearest Janie." The breath he'd drawn to speak the words burned his throat.
Instead of returning his smile, she frowned. "Are you—?"
"Ill," he announced cheerfully. She was here to save him, and he hadn't even had to ask. "Caught something just before I left my sister in St. Louis. It seems to be getting wor—" Another bout of coughing took him, and he ratcheted up in the seat, doubling over as it stole the very breath from his chest.
This one was the worst yet, and he braced with hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath through burning lungs and throat.
The train began to slow with a squeal of brakes, the change in motion throwing him off balance. Janie braced his shoulder.
Cowboy Pride Page 9
