Caught in the Middle (Ladies of Caldwell County Book #3)

by Regina Jennings

  “Not only do I have the election, but we vote on the bridge a week from tomorrow. I can’t miss that.”

  “Ah yes. The bridge. Ian wished to speak to you on that subject. Perhaps you’ll find time to visit while on your little excursion?” One eyebrow curved like the top of a question mark.

  “I’ll need to talk it over and make sure the office can do without me, but exactly what will my duties entail on the trip?”

  “Those two towns will wine and dine you—dinners, parades, samples of their wares. There will be offers of every kind made to the men who have the power to decide whether the town gets a railroad or not. Remember”—she walked around the chair to stand before him—“it’s not just a hotel and restaurant that will prosper. Farmers can get more money for their crops, because shipping will cost less. The goods for sale in the mercantile will be cheaper in the town with the depot, because those items will be unloaded straight off the train. No wagon fees. Every merchant, craftsman, farmer, tanner, and rancher will give anything for you to choose their town.”

  “Is that legal?”

  She waved away his scruples with a genteel gesture. “Certainly. Your choice will be based on which town has the most to offer. They are merely demonstrating their riches. And then there are the railroad easements. As a reward for your extra work, you’ll be deeded fifty acres of prime real estate on either side of the track. It’s a standard benefit.”

  Nicholas studied his clean shorn fingernails. How many years of scrimping could he leapfrog in this one trip? The experience alone was worth the extra work. The faint sheen of greed glistened on Harold’s forehead. His index finger mimicked a woodpecker against Nicholas’s desk. Now that Harold was back and with Anne to help . . .

  Ophelia’s cheeks pinked like a girl with her first beau.

  “You mentioned compromises,” Nick said. “I assume you’ll expect something from me in return for your generous offer.”

  She tapped her chin. “Ian has a matter that he’ll no doubt discuss with you on the trip, but I have my own agenda. If you think you’ll win an election—or that I’d want to be known as your sponsor—when you employ an outcast who thumbs her nose at all that’s right and decent, then you are mistaken.”

  Nicholas spun his pen between his fingers. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “Harold is back. There’s no excuse for her presence.” She jabbed her parasol into the rug. “Now, shall I tell Ian to expect you on the ten o’clock train?”

  From the syrupy tone of her voice, Ophelia was smiling, but Nick didn’t look up.

  “I’ll let you know before the end of the night.”

  “If you’ll excuse us, Harold.” Anne heard Nicholas’s chair scrape the wood floor as it slid away from his desk. She rustled some papers to disguise her engrossment with their conversation.

  “Mrs. Tillerton, I won’t be gone long. Will you help Harold until I get back?”

  So he didn’t call her by her Christian name in front of Ophelia?

  “Umm . . . yes.” There was more to say—wear garlic around your neck, watch your scalp—but Anne would have to wait until he returned to laugh at Ophelia’s ridiculous demands.

  Harold entered just as the door closed, then extended papers to her with his good arm.

  “If Nick’s going to be gone a couple of days, we might have a chance to catch up with him.”

  She dipped her pen into the inkwell. “Show me what to do.”

  “First let’s see what you’ve already done.”

  As Anne opened files and ledgers, Harold’s approval grew. Her work might have been painstakingly slow, but it was neat and accurate, leaving him with nothing to rework as he had feared. By quitting time they’d recorded all of the expenses and made updates to the employee rolls.

  Harold was banking the fire in the small potbelly stove and Anne was tidying her desk when Nicholas opened the door.

  “I didn’t know you were returning.” Harold straightened.

  “I’m not staying long.” Nicholas unbuttoned his coat. “Do you think you can handle everything while I’m gone? You won’t be able to contact me for a couple of days.”

  “We’re awaiting the shipment of the saw before any progress at the work site can be made.” Harold fastened his satchel. “As far as the paper work goes, with Mrs. Tillerton’s help I should be back up to speed, if not a little faster—three arms instead of two.”

  “Do you have a key for tomorrow morning?”

  Harold nodded. He opened the door and stepped aside to let Anne pass first.

  “Anne, please stay.” Nicholas fiddled with a pen from the desk. “If you don’t mind.”

  Harold pulled the door closed behind him, but not before leaving with a significant waggle of his eyebrows over his spectacles.

  Nicholas’s chin lowered. He sighed. “I suppose you know what I must say.”

  Anne dug her boot heel into the soft pine floor. “You’re going to apologize for Mrs. Stanford’s rudeness. You’re going to beg me to continue working for you, even though it means putting up with a she-cat with no manners.”

  He cocked his head. “What would be your second guess?”

  The smoke from the dying fire pricked her eyes. “Ophelia hates me because I won’t lick her boots. I’ve dealt with bullies before—and that’s all she is, demanding her way.”

  “Unfortunately, Ophelia earned that right when her husband became my sole account.” Nicholas dropped the pen into the inkwell. “Not only can she wreck my campaign, but she could also bankrupt my company. Now, surely there’s a solution. If you’ve decided to stay in town and raise Sammy, we need to find you a position that’s more permanent.”

  “You’re sending me away?”

  “Never. But I don’t know how to keep you. I want you here. I want to see you—I will see you—every day, but if my business folds then neither of us will have employment. Maybe if you wouldn’t antagonize her so—”

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about control. Ophelia is threatened by anyone who isn’t in her pocket. That’s why she has to remove me . . . and why she’s so smitten with you.” Anne hated the crack in her voice. She cleared her throat. “It’s because you don’t have a backbone where she’s concerned. You’re at her beck and call.”

  “I don’t need advice from you, Mrs. Tillerton. I choose to live in society, and that means getting along with people, even when they are difficult. And you should be thankful I’m patient with difficult women, else you would’ve never lasted this long.” Nick’s brow lowered. “I have to please my customer, and I can’t believe you’d hold this two-bit position dearer than my career—than our relationship.”

  “We don’t have a relationship.”

  “Well, maybe I want one.”

  Anne’s hand dropped to her side. Was he serious? He seemed as surprised by his admission as she was. Slowly he unclenched his fists, but he watched her as though there was more at stake than he was ready to admit. Even more than his contract.

  “Look, I don’t want to fight, but this is important. We both knew you weren’t working here permanently. Why not let Ophelia think she’s won a battle? If I can’t find you another position, I’ll keep your name on the payroll, and you can collect without lifting a finger. Will you do that? For me?” His blue eyes could melt butter, but Anne was made of sterner stuff. She opened her mouth, and he amended, “Not for me. For Sammy.”

  Anne’s jaw clenched. She knew loving Sammy would make her vulnerable, but she hadn’t expected to be attacked so soon, and by Nick, of all people. “Don’t drag him into this. If you’re so set on pleasing Ophelia, fine. But if you’re too ashamed to be seen with me here, don’t think I’ll welcome your company anywhere else.” With a swish of her skirt she hurried to the door and called over her shoulder, “Stay away from me and my son.”

  15

  The stagecoach slid sideways on the sandy road that spanned the gentle rises. With a practiced eye, Nick assessed the grade. As flat as one coul
d hope for in this area, but the ground felt unstable. Of course if the railroad strayed too far from water, they’d spend more on lumber. Best option was to encompass enough timber in the land allotment that none had to be purchased. Still, this route seemed to be superior to the Bakersville option.

  Ian Stanford belched from the seat next to him. “We’ve covered more ground going side to side than forward progress.” He loosened his necktie. “Just another reason that railroads will make coach travel obsolete.”

  No reply was necessary and the less he had to say, the better. Nicholas was in no mood for small talk. Once again he’d gotten crossways with Anne. Once again he felt the stunning discomfort that accompanied every spat with her. He hated that she couldn’t stay on at the office, but didn’t she understand what was at stake? He had to keep peace with Ophelia if he wanted to be successful. What help could he be to Anne and Sammy if he lost his business?

  The town of Vannatta appeared as the coach crested a bald rise. As they crossed a bridge, Ian waved to the people gathering by the road while Nicholas shoved aside his worries of Anne and prepared to greet the dignitaries gathered before the post office.

  He hadn’t expected a brass band to meet them at Vannatta, which was fortunate. Nowhere else could a tuba player, an elderly woman with a cornet, and a boy with a triangle qualify as a band, but there they were, filling the crisp air with a stirring rendition of “She’ll Be Coming ’Round the Mountain.”

  “Not quite as big as Bakersville’s welcome,” Stanford said. “Hopefully they’ll be more desperate.” He straightened his tie and tightened his gloves before climbing out of the stagecoach.

  Nicholas didn’t follow too closely. After being trapped inside a coach with a man suffering from perpetual indigestion, he wanted some space—and some fresh air. He hopped down and stretched discreetly before the crowd realized they had two guests of honor.

  At Bakersville, he’d been treated like the visiting Prince of Wales. They’d generously given a sample of all the fruits of their labors, but by this time of year many of their crops were dried or canned. Balancing the glass jars of beets and tomatoes as he’d looked inside the general store had put him in a foul mood. What did he care how many shelves of goods were available in town? Didn’t they realize the railroad would bring business whether it was already there or not? The saddle was an extravagant gesture, but one which was useless to him. Most of the riches Ophelia had hinted at had yet to materialize. Of course, at the top of that list was the land grant, and that would be almost worthless until the railroad was completed, anyway.

  As for his mentor, Stanford’s activities involved hinting, criticizing, and looking disappointed. Once inside the coach Nicholas was concerned to learn that Stanford’s disapproval did not stem from the unstable topsoil and deep river crossing, but from the lack of goods delivered up front. “They are holding out, waiting to see what we decide,” he’d complained. “How are we to make our decision before we see what is offered?”

  Not what Nick had expected. Before Nicholas could reach the patriotically sashed top-hat wearer, Stanford had already accepted an armful of fall foliage and a kiss on the cheek by one of the local lasses.

  Feeling a bit foolish for having missed the ceremonial greeting, Nick edged his way onto the platform. The lovely hostess had positioned herself at the side of a burly pouting youth, who had no interest in seeing the ceremony performed again, but someone, feeling that Nick had been slighted, sought to remedy his loss. The cornet player stepped forward, wrenched Nick’s ear while moistening her lips, and planted a firm smooch on his mouth.

  The crowd—such as it was—erupted in laughter. What could he do? Warmth crept up his neck like he was a boy in short pants. He waggled his eyebrows at the crone and sent her a saucy wink. Her eyes danced as she swatted his arm and stepped off the platform.

  Stanford turned a shoulder to the crowd. “I thought she really liked you.”

  “I thought cornet players had to have teeth,” Nicholas shot back, still smiling at the happy assembly.

  Compared to Bakersville’s, the speech was brief. A few farmers stepped up to make suggestions on the lay of the land and the water sources for the boilers. Women produced baked goods kept warm in baskets as children stole peeks from behind their skirts. Once the official pitch had ended, Nicholas excused himself from the gathering in order to explore the land stretching beyond Main Street.

  Gentle slopes covered in dried prairie grass ducked and tucked into each other. The Blue Woman Creek ran along the proposed route through Vannatta, its tree-lined banks offering lumber for the ties and water for the steam engine.

  Nick sensed before he heard the quiet man approaching. Stopping next to him, the man rested his hands on his narrow hips, his eyes seeing far across the plain.

  “When I first come in 1860, I got holed up at this spot by a buffalo herd. Had to hide out in the trees yonder for two days to keep from getting trampled. Thought there was no end to the beasts.”

  “I’ve been in a coach for two days and haven’t seen a single bison,” Nicholas said.

  The man nodded. “This land could never have been settled with them trampling our crops and passing disease on to our livestock. Figured I’d make my money thinning them out before I tried my hand at ranching. Did well for myself selling the hides, and yet I’m kind of sorry to see them go.”

  “You hunted buffalo here?” The man was as thin as a rail but looked like he could carry one unaided.

  “Yes, sir. Name’s Buck Chambers.”

  “Nicholas Lovelace.” He offered his hand. “You wouldn’t happen to know a lady hunter? Anne Tillerton?”

  A warm smile crossed his face. “Little Annie. Of course. One of the best shots around. She had trouble handling that big Sharps rifle, but she’d never let on. Just did her job—which wasn’t easy with all the attention she caught.”

  “Attention?” Nick’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, there was always some idiot greenhorn who’d saunter up and think he was going to fix her. Think he could say some nice words and woo her. She wanted nothing to do with them, which was for the best.” He sent a stream of tobacco shooting. “Old Anoli had his hands full chasing them away, but I guess she’s somewhere safe now.”

  Nick’s chest expanded with a painful breath. Was she safe? Was she safe from idiot greenhorns? Now that she was staying in town, he needed to be clear on what the future held for them. He’d never imagined courting a woman like Anne, but neither could he imagine his day without her.

  “She works for me . . . she used to anyway, but she’s not happy living in town.”

  Buck nestled a fresh lump of snuff in his lip. “Then why don’t she come back?”

  “She’s taken custody of an infant, can hardly hunt with a baby.”

  “Oh yeah . . . Finn’s by-blow. I heard about that. She must be powerfully attached to stay there. We could barely get her to go into Pushmataha, much less Garber.” The aging hunter rolled a rock beneath his shoe. “Well, you tell her I send my best. I’m glad she’s found a place to settle down and call home.”

  Had she? Before he could answer, Ian appeared.

  “There you are.” Stanford paused midstep to stifle another belch. “I’m afraid we’re wasting our time here. They don’t have much to offer.”

  How Stanford could miss the quick indignation of Buck Chambers, Nicholas couldn’t fathom. Perhaps the same way he’d missed the gentle terrain and the ready resources needed to lay track. Had the free food blinded him? But it was Stanford’s company and Stanford’s call. Besides, with troublesome thoughts of Anne at the forefront of his mind, Nicholas was in no mood to argue.

  Their hired coach met them as they reached the main thoroughfare through town.

  “There’s an inn at Caddo where we’ll stay tonight,” Ian said. “Only decent place to take a meal in Indian Territory.”

  How could he think about eating after all that’d been offered them?

&nbs
p; A river crossing lay ahead. The stagecoach paused. The horses allowed it to rock backwards before heaving it up the ramp.

  “Can we stop here?” Nick asked. “I’d like to examine this bridge. The river appears to be similar in size to the Choctaw.”

  “We won’t stop.” The edge to Mr. Stanford’s voice could cut a rail. “And enough with this bridge nonsense. I can’t believe you’re still considering it.”

  “It’s my job to consider it.”

  “But there are already bridges across the Choctaw. People have several options to get to town—the train, the ferry, or the Finkle Road.”

  “Those options aren’t always good enough. The Finkle Road is hours out of the way, and the ferry and the train are both expensive options—especially if they are traveling with a large family or driving livestock to market. Besides, they aren’t always available.” Nick grasped the leather loop above the window as the buggy bounced. “I saw a man die trying to cross the river—”

  “You can’t base a decision on an isolated incident,” Stanford snorted.

  “I agree, but it gave me the impetus to do my own research. Because a man died doesn’t make the bridge right, but if it’s justified, then waiting could be tragic. Why delay if building the bridge would benefit everyone?”

  “But it won’t benefit everyone. The ferryman will be out of business.”

  “I considered that, but the ferry isn’t even privately owned. It belongs to Blackstone County, and the ferryman is a county employee.”

  “And that leaves the railroad—”

  “Honestly, I don’t think it’ll bother you much,” Nick said. “Your railroad covers nearly a thousand miles. How much could the small section between Garber and Allyton hurt you?”

  “Let me be clear, son.” Ian’s sudden sarcasm made Nick’s skin crawl. “Considering all I’ve done for you, I thought you’d be more receptive to my advice. My railroad will continue to thrive even if the vote on the bridge passes, but our success depends on the allegiance of our partners. NTT Railroad will not do business with any supplier who acts against our interest, however insignificant it might seem. This isn’t about a single bridge—it’s about loyalty.”