by Jillian Hart
Cora took the girl’s small hand and led her through the aisles of fabrics and accessories and shoppers. She was glad for the part-time help she had hired. She checked on her workers, who looked busy but not unmanageably so, and went straight to the girls’ dresses.
“Something practical.” Cora considered the half-dozen frocks that were about Holly’s size. She pushed aside the party silks and velveteens trimmed with seed pearls and imported lace, and considered the plainest dress on the rod. A warm-green wool, princess-style dress with satin ribbons and mother-of-pearl buttons.
“It don’t got no ruffles or puffy sleeves.” The girl’s comment was a quiet one, especially compared to the privileged young lady one aisle over who was in a tantrum over the expensive bonnet she wanted. “I sure like ruffles and puffy sleeves.”
“The other dresses are for fancy parties, not for everyday.” Cora kept her tone gentle. She understood what it was like to have impractical wishes. “I don’t suppose you go to many fancy parties.”
“A party? I ain’t never been to one of them.”
Poor girl. Cora smoothed the golden wisps from the child’s face, feeling oddly tender. It was clear by the look of the girl’s ill-fitting calico dress that she needed a woman’s care. Not that Rafe wasn’t trying. The calico dress seemed new, perhaps purchased at a mercantile, but it was a size too large.
“Why don’t you try this dress on? I know it doesn’t have puffy sleeves, but feel how soft the fabric is.”
Fingers emerged from too-long coat sleeves to stroke the fine-quality wool. She nodded somberly. “It’s softer than a kitten.”
“I have more fabric just as soft. I can make a few more dresses, if you want.”
“With ruffles?”
“And I can make one with puffy sleeves.”
“That’d be mighty fine.” When Holly smiled, she brightened like the sun at noon. Adorable.
Then again, Cora had a soft spot for children. “I want you to try this on. There’s a place behind the curtain to change.”
An impatient voice interrupted. “Cora! Cora, I need assistance.”
“Of course, Mrs. Bell.” She sent a reassuring smile in the wealthy matron’s direction before handing Holly the green woolen. “I have a few other customers to wait on, Holly, and then I will help you pick out fabric for your new dresses. Would you like that?”
“Yes’m!” The girl seized the dress and scampered off, such a dear thing and so well mannered.
“Cora.” Jessalyn Bell’s narrow mouth was pressed into a flat line. Impatience vibrated through her. “I am waiting.”
“Yes, Mrs. Bell, I’m coming.” When the child tugged one of the curtains closed, Cora rounded the display, turning her attention to one of her more important—and difficult—customers. “How may I help you?”
“A scandal, children like that.” Jessalyn shook her head in disapproval, her jowls quivering. “It oughtn’t to be allowed.”
Cora glanced at the red-faced twelve-year-old stamping her foot in the aisle, Jessalyn’s youngest, then at the curtain now pulled closed. “Yes,” she said quietly. “It is a scandal when hardship happens to a helpless child. How can I help you?”
While Mrs. Bell went on, oblivious to her daughter’s angry display, Cora felt a tingle at her nape. When she glanced over her shoulder, she saw nothing but the expanse of snowy boardwalk and street. No sign of Rafe. She warmed sweetly and let hope fill her—just a little. Maybe she wasn’t too old for romance, after all.
The hour was nearly up. Rafe lumbered up the steps onto the boardwalk, wet from the melting snow. He had a good view into Cora’s shop. The front windows sparkled without a streak or even a speck of dirt, making it easy to pick her out. Most of the shoppers had left. Two employees appeared busy—one folding up bolts of material, the other tallying up purchases at the counter.
Cora waltzed into sight from the back, where she carried a paper-wrapped bundle in the crook of her arm. She sure looked a sight in that brown-and-white-striped shirt and brown skirt. The colors brought out the gold tones in her hair. He liked the way she had piled it loosely on top of her head, a few curls spilling down to frame her face.
She was sure a fine woman. Not wealthy like some of the women who had filed out of her store. But she was every bit as quality. Maybe more. It was the composed way she held herself, with her spine straight and her movements calm and sure. Her manner of gently respecting everyone.
Yep, he sure liked her, and that spelled trouble. He juggled the bags and opened the door. The bell overhead jingled a merry welcome, making Cora look up. He steeled himself. Whatever it took, he could not let her smile thaw him. He had a job to do. A job, nothing more.
A child caught hold of his sleeve and held on tight. “Mr. Rafe, look at what I got. Miss Sims is gonna make me up more dresses.”
Holly. He hardly recognized her. Her green dress complemented her blue eyes and gold hair. Not the spitting image of the woman setting the package on the counter, but close enough.
“I ought to be finished sewing by the end of next week at the latest.” Cora circled the counter, efficiently pulling a pad from her pocket and a pencil from the countertop.
The way she moved captivated him. It was like watching the stars dance through a midwinter sky. She was like the North Star, hovering in place, the anchor for all the others. He certainly felt drawn to her and couldn’t turn away.
“I hope that will be all right.” She jotted a few things on the notepad. “Since you haven’t told me precisely how long you are staying in town.”
“Until Christmas.” That was news to him. He didn’t know why he said it. He hadn’t given it much thought. “At least, that’s what I reckon.”
“Good. The candlelight service on Christmas Eve is always touching. We have a wonderful, down-to-earth minister. I don’t know if you are a churchgoing man.”
“Used to be.” Back when he was young, when he still could believe. Life had stripped him of that belief.
“Is there singin’?” Holly released his sleeve and padded toward Cora. “I sure do like singin’.”
“Yes. We do a lot of singing. There is a church organ and a choir, too.”
“My pa used to preach on Sundays. That was, until he fell sick.”
He would have to be deaf not to hear the sad longing in the girl’s voice. The ice around his heart cracked. He couldn’t stand to hear more of her sad story. It was none of his business. She’d hired him with the few pennies she had—not that he’d taken them yet or planned to. She was a job, nothing more. No sense getting all caught up in emotions when a parting of ways was certain. A smart man would remember that. What he should do is get a few more of his questions answered, break the news to Cora and ride south to warmer weather.
“You must miss your pa something terrible.” Cora abandoned her tablet and leaned down so that she was eye to eye with Holly. Concern wreathed her lovely face and it was easy to see what she was made of.
“I know how much it hurts.” She wiped a tear from the girl’s cheek. “I lost my pa when I wasn’t much older than you.”
“You did? Did you hafta go to an orphanage, too?”
“No, I still had my mother to take care of me and my sister. Is that what happened to you?”
“Uh-huh. I don’t ever wanna go back.”
“Then you must be thankful for Mr. Jones.” She brushed the last tear from the girl’s cheek. “He takes good care of you.”
“Yep, but he don’t know much about girls. He can’t help it none.”
“But he tries.”
Thank heaven for responsible, caring men like Rafe Jones, Cora thought. “Did you want to pick out the ribbons now, Holly?”
“Yes’m.” The girl padded off, the skirt of her dress swirling around her knees. What a good thing Mr. Jones had done, taking the girl in!
I’m not sweet on him, she told herself firmly. She returned to her pencil and finished tallying, but where was her attention? It was on the big ma
n as he set a brown bag on the edge of her counter. The scent of roasted chicken and fresh rye bread wafted from it.
“For you, Cora. You take lunch?”
“Yes. I have a room in the back where I eat.”
“Would you mind some company?”
“I would love some.” She did her best to keep her smile from showing. Any moment now she would start to believe that he really was still interested in her. Her heart would be in jeopardy. Where was her common sense when she needed it?
“Then it’s settled,” he said. He set down the second bag he carried, perhaps his and Holly’s sandwiches. For a moment his gaze lingered and there was something in his eyes she had never seen before. At least not for her.
Caring. Affection. Those rare, beautiful emotions lingered for a brief moment, then vanished. Holly was calling to him, asking how many ribbons she could have.
He backed away and put distance between them, but she did not forget. Sweetness filled her as she watched the big man kneel to talk quietly to the girl. The tender tones wrapped about Cora like hope. She did not forget the affection she’d glimpsed. It took all her strength to keep her wishes reined in and her feet firmly on the ground.
Chapter Five
The back door shut quietly as Holly escaped to play in the alley, leaving Cora alone with the man in black. Snow was gently falling as she poured two cups of steaming tea to finish their meal. Rafe Jones was not an easy man to ignore. His presence seemed to shrink the comfortable room.
“What made you become a seamstress?” he asked, watching her with frank intensity.
Her face heated. He’d had plenty of time with her, enough to know that she wasn’t interesting, witty or engaging. He didn’t seem to mind. That made her like him more.
“After my father’s death, my mother sold off the horses and parceled out most of the land, giving us money enough to survive for a time. But after all the valuables were sold and the money ran out, my mother did piecework sewing for a company. She would bring work home and my sister and I would sit beside her and help.”
“Your family was rich?”
“We had been comfortable. But material things have little value in the end. How could they? They are so easily lost. I would have gladly traded every jewel and our ten-room house for one more day with my family.”
“It’s why I’ve never fussed much about possessions.”
“You are a wise man, Rafe.” Her boldness at the use of his Christian name surprised her, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“Hardly.”
She dropped two lumps of sugar into her tea and stirred. It gave her time to observe more about him. The way he drank his tea without sugar, and steaming hot. Cradling his cup in one callused hand, he leaned toward her, inclining just enough to make it seem as if no space whatsoever stood between them.
Please, let him keep liking me. The prayer arose without thought, too late to call it back. Ashamed, she took a sip of tea. There were greater woes in the world. Greater sufferings and misfortunes for the Lord to tend to than her romantic hopes. Perhaps she was spending far too much time thinking about her own wishes. “Now it’s your turn to answer questions,” she said.
“I didn’t know we were taking turns.”
She smiled even as she willed herself not to. My, what an impact this man made! She felt a fluttering inside, as if her entire spirit were taking wing. How on earth was she going to manage to hold back her feelings? She gazed out the window where Holly was holding out her hands and spinning like the snow. The girl was as safe as could be and having fun.
She took another sip of hot tea. “Why did you become a bounty hunter?”
“I spent most of my early years in an orphanage out of Sioux City. I was seven years old when I was hired out to a farmer. He was a hard man, but I got lucky. He sold me off to another older couple. The husband had fallen too sick to do heavy labor around his homestead.”
“You were sold? At seven years old?”
“I was nearly eight by then.” He took a long swallow of tea. His eyes darkened, as if with cold memories. “It happens all the time. The orphanages have too many children and not enough money.”
“I see. I hate to think they are such heartless places.”
“They aren’t. Just poor.” He set down his cup. “You look quite affected by that.”
“I’ve never given it much thought. We have a yearly Christmas drive at the church. We try to help a nearby orphanage.” She swiped stray curls from her eyes, staring out the window where the girl played. “Holly was in one.”
“She was. When I met her, she was half starved and working twelve-hour days for a woman in Helena.”
“She’s only ten years old!”
“Old enough to earn her keep, some would say. I’m glad I took her from that.”
“Me, too.” Tears filled her eyes. “She’s such a nice girl.”
“She surely is.” He couldn’t say he wasn’t affected by Cora’s compassion, the shimmer of tears in her eyes. She had quite a tender heart. Could she have left a newborn in such a place? He couldn’t see it. “Have you ever been to one?”
“An orphanage? No.”
He believed her. That meant she must have left the baby with caring, adoptive parents. That would explain the man Holly called Pa. There were no records to show he was her real father, not that there were often any. Holly had a family Bible she had managed to hold on to, but there had been no notation of her birth in it.
“Was the older couple nicer to you?” Cora’s eyes narrowed, as if she was trying to see past his day’s growth and his defenses.
“They were, but after Mr. Tilden recovered from consumption, they couldn’t afford to keep me on. I was fourteen by then. I could pass for a few years older. I was tall for my age. I joined the Union Army and fought in the War Between the States.”
“You never had a childhood.”
“Sure I did.” He brushed off her concern; he didn’t know what else to do. Tears still stood in her eyes, for him now. It made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to being looked at like that. When he grabbed up his cup and drained the rest of the tea, he could feel her gaze like the gentlest of touches.
As the tea scorched his gut, he hated to think what she saw. A man in his thirties who had lived a hard life, with time etched on his face and no softness inside.
“My father wrote home faithfully,” she said, “and he often told of the soldiers hardly more than boys who had enlisted and who fought beside him.” Sympathy. It was right there on her face, plain for him to see.
His chest seized tight. Never had he seen such a thing, and all for him. He stared down at the empty depths of the teacup and found no answer there. He was all tangled up again with no chance for relief. Because if he took off out that door, like his every instinct was telling him to, he would only have to talk to her another time. There were things that needed to be said. Truths that had to be unearthed.
“I fared all right.” His words came out scratchy from all the strain of trying not to feel things for her. “When the war was over, I looked for work for a long spell.”
“You didn’t have any family. Anyone to come home to.” She bridged the few feet separating them and laid her hand on his. Her compassionate touch was satin soft.
He closed his eyes, fighting to stay as frozen as the earth in winter. “I did all right. I was handy with a gun, and tracking outlaws suits me.”
“You’ve been alone all this time? Hasn’t there been anyone at all?”
Her sympathy chipped away at him. He didn’t bother to answer. Didn’t see how he could. He’d been alone until that little girl had hired him. He looked out the window where she was at play, intent on rolling up a big ball of snow.
The tangle in his chest nearly choked him. He wanted to say that being around folks was nothing but a complication, a burden, to a wandering soul like him. It wasn’t the truth. He was a little sweet on her.
“There has been no one for me, either,” sh
e confessed.
So there had been no beau. She withdrew her hand, but the connection between them remained.
“Your life will be changing quite a bit,” she said, “now that you have Holly to raise.”
“To tell you the truth, I won’t be raising her.” This was where it got tricky. He drew himself up straighter in his chair, hating to dig up Cora’s painful past. “I reckon her ma is alive. I intend to find the lady and leave Holly with her.”
“Oh, I hadn’t realized.” Those tears hovered again, dangerously close to brimming over. “That would be a great blessing, to reunite a mother with her daughter.”
He reckoned the woman in front of him might be thinking of the baby she’d left behind. Maybe that accounted for her tears. Then again, Cora did have a generous heart, the most generous he’d ever come across.
“What are you going to do?” she asked. “It will be hard for you to leave Holly behind. You’re fond of her.”
“I’m used to leaving folks behind. It’s why she hired me.”
“Hired you?”
“With three pennies. It was the only money she had.” A muscle worked in his jaw and he stopped short, as if there was more to say.
“Let me guess.” She could see how the tough bounty hunter did not have the strength to say no to a helpless child. “You’re passing through town on your way to find the mother.”
“Not passing through, no.” He laid his hand on hers. She could feel every rough callus just as easily as she could feel his affection. Tenderness glittered in her like stardust.
I cannot be sweet on him, she told herself, not this quick and not without a long courtship, the way love was supposed to come. Love should be the gentle result of time spent together and common wishes. Something reasonable and compatible, not a sudden, unbidden emotion that made every inch of her heart and soul feel and fill, even the unused corners she did not know she had.
A knock on the inside door startled her. A quick look told her that Holly was still playing in the quiet alleyway, rolling snow to make a head for a snowman.
