by Diane Darcy
“I have every right to hold him here,” Gabe said. “He spit on the street.”
Luke’s brows rose. “Since when is that a crime?”
“Luke, you may be the mayor, but I’ll decide what’s a crime in my town. Anyway, aren’t you a little busy to be bothering me? How’s it going with Miss Carmichael,” he scowled.
It was an obvious change of subject.
“Who’s she?” Walter asked. “The new girl in town? The chit who works at the pie shop?”
Luke didn’t care for the other man knowing who she was, but it wasn’t as if he could keep her a secret. When a pretty girl came to town, everybody was going to know about it. “Mind your business and pick up your cards.”
Gabe smirked at Walter. “Hear that? Even the mayor wants you to teach me poker.”
“Or you could just let him go,” Luke said. “So we can have a private conversation.”
“I’m not lettin’ him go. He needs to learn his lesson. Anyway, who knows when’s the next time he’s gonna spit in the street?”
“Not ever, that’s when,” Walter said. “And I’m gonna tell the others to watch out, too.”
“Dag-nabbit, Luke.” Gabe threw down his cards. “Now see what you’ve done? How am I supposed to get good at poker in time for the tournament?”
“So it’s true? We really are having a tournament?” Walter’s eyes glowed.
Luke, seeing no reason to deny it, nodded. “We are.”
“How much of a stake to get in?”
“One thousand dollars.”
“One thousand dollars?” Dawkins eyes bugged. “How’s a man supposed to raise that kind of money?”
“I sincerely doubt many around these parts will. That’s the point. Our town is a great place to live, but we need some new blood, and some more money coming in. Anyway, go on. Get out of here.”
“Luke!” Gabe protested.
Walter shot to his feet and threw his cards on the table.
“Don’t move.” Gabe growled and stared the smaller man down. Finally, he made an impatient noise and jerked his head. “Go on, get. I don’t want to catch you spitting in the street again.”
“Don’t worry,” Walter said sourly. “You won’t.”
Luke stepped to the side as Walter darted out.
Gabe gathered the cards to shuffle. “I don’t get to court the new girl, and now you’re taking away my shot at the poker game? How’d it go with her, anyway? Did she like you? Or do the rest of us have a shot with her?”
“I don’t have any claim, but yes, I’d say she likes me fine.”
“That’s what I thought!” Gabe tossed the newly gathered cards on his desk again. “Come on, then. We can walk around the town while we shoot the bull. Maybe I’ll find someone else committing a crime. Someone who’s good at poker.”
They stepped outside just as Elmer scurried by with a piece of paper in hand.
“Elmer,” Luke barked.
The small man froze, his muscles tensing as if preparing to run. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing against his tie. “Yes, Mayor?”
“I heard you told Widow Braxton about the tournament.” Luke glowered. “I thought telegrams were confidential.”
“I … I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to,” he stuttered. “But you know if she heard about something like that after the fact, I’d lose my job.”
“You work for this town—for me—not the widow.”
“You tell her that, then.”
Luke motioned to the piece of paper Elmer was holding. “Who’s the telegram for?”
“Miss Carmichael.”
Luke held out his hand.
“I can’t give it to you. It’s my job to make sure …” His voice dwindled off as he realized what they’d just been talking about. He gawked at Luke’s hand and reluctantly passed the paper over.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure she gets it.”
Elmer opened his mouth, closed it again, and backed away. After a few feet, he twisted around and scurried off.
“What’s it say?” Gabe asked.
Luke silently read the telegram. He frowned and clenched his jaw. “It sounds as if there’s a suitor racing across the country to see her. And her father is giving her permission to stay.”
“Looks like your courtship is coming to an end.”
“Guess so. I’ll see you later.”
“I thought you wanted to talk about something?”
“Another time,” Luke said tersely.
Gabe spluttered a muffled exclamation of disgust. “Thanks for nothing. How am I going to find a player as good as Dawkins committing a crime?”
Luke ignored him and walked away, glowering. Did it really matter if a man with a prior claim showed up? It wasn’t like Luke was in the market for a wife. And since Grace was definitely the marrying kind, the honorable thing would be to step aside. Not just for this love-struck beau who was dashing across the country, but also for Gabe or anyone else who might like a chance with her. After all, Luke was simply enjoying her company. That was all.
So why did the thought of another man courting her have him gritting his teeth?
He let out a breath. Apparently he wasn’t ready to give her up yet. So he’d continue to see her while he had the chance. Who knew? Maybe by the time her suitor showed, they will have tired of each other. It had certainly happened before. In his own marriage, in fact. So why worry?
He’d court Grace because first, he refused to let the widow tell him what to do, and second, because by the time her admirer showed, whatever fascination Grace held for Luke would most likely have dissipated.
Why deny himself the pleasure of her company in the meanwhile?
Grace dished a slice of blueberry pie onto a plate, poured a cup of coffee, and handed both to Minnie, who served a customer. A quick glance told her the intimidating man seated by the window was staring at her again. Grace turned away and busied herself wiping the stove. The prickling sensation at the back of her neck intensified.
Minnie didn’t seem to know the man, so he must be a stranger. He wasn’t the one who’d knifed her in that alley in New York; of that she was certain. But he did seem the type one might hire to perform dastardly deeds. She didn’t like to think ill of anyone, but his appearance left much to be desired. He wore a battered hat that appeared as if it might have been light in color at one time, but was so covered in dirty splotches, it was difficult to tell.
With his complexion, she thought he might have Spanish or Indian blood. Thick black hair and a short, dark beard and mustache highlighted his large nose—which appeared to have been broken at least once. A scar slashed his beard, a white stripe that ran from his jaw to cheekbone. His dark, craggy face was creased with dirt and his filthy shirt contributed the final touch to his sinister appearance. Even sitting, he was broad, tall, and utterly frightening.
He was studying her again. She wasn’t imagining it. She could feel sweat gathering at her hairline.
“Ma’am?” The loud rumble of his voice resonated across the room.
Shoulders tight, Grace glanced up to see him holding his cup toward Minnie.
Grace exhaled while her friend poured more coffee. She really needed to stop her imaginings. After all, she was new in town. Of course the man was curious. He certainly wasn’t the only one who came in to get an eye-full this week—just the most daunting. With nothing else to clean, Grace picked up the book she’d been reading earlier.
“Ma’am?”
This time when Grace lifted her head, he was looking at her. She swallowed. “Yes?”
“I see you like to read.” His booming voice easily carried across the small shop.
“Pardon?”
“When I came in you was readin’ a book and now you’re at it again.”
“Oh. Why, yes. I do like to read. Very much.” Searching for something to add, she lifted the book so he could see the cover and stammered out, “It’s The Prince and the Pauper. Have you read it?”
/> “No.”
“Oh, well, it’s a wonderful story by Mark Twain and it—”
“I’m not interested in stories.”
She blinked. “Of course.”
The man unfolded from his chair, his full height and the breadth of his shoulders intimidating as he slowly approached the counter. When he reached into his pocket, Grace froze.
He slowly removed a piece of paper, hesitated, and pushed it across the counter. “Do you think you could read this to me?”
Grace took a deep breath, unfolded the paper, and scanned a few lines of the letter. Thankfully, it was written in English. “You’re sure?”
The man swallowed, nodded.
A young gentleman walked into the store, removed his hat, and headed in their direction.
The big man snatched the paper away and Grace jumped. When she saw the skittish expression on the large man’s face, it touched her heart. She waved at Minnie. “Can you help this new customer, please?”
At Minnie’s nod, Grace hurried from behind the counter. She stopped, self-conscious, as the man loomed over her. “Would you like to sit again?”
He studied her a long moment, finally gave a nod, and resumed his seat.
Grace sank across from him. “Mr. …?”
“Just Angel. Everyone calls me Angel.”
Truly? The man was the least angelic creature she’d ever seen. Tall, tough-looking, and lean. No softness anywhere. And, of course, there was the scar. He didn’t exactly look like a heavenly being. “Well, Angel, let’s see what you have there.”
His grip tightened on the piece of paper. The other customer must have been looking in their direction because Angel glared for a moment, then glanced at her. He swallowed, licked his lips, and slowly slid the letter across the table.
She opened it again. In a low voice, she started reading.
“My dearest Angel, and only love.”
Angel leaned in closer.
Grace paused and glanced up. “Are you sure you want me to read this? It appears personal.”
He nodded and circled one hand for her to continue.
She hesitantly did so, lowering her tone even more as he bent his head and turned one ear toward her.
“How I’ve missed you. I received your sweet and welcome letter of May 14th and your very nice gift and it made for quite a pleasant morning. You are the reason I get up as the day starts, my beating heart hopeful for word from you. I now take this great pleasure to write in return. Ma and Pa fare very well, and the planting is in. Also, all the orchards are in bloom. The weather has become cool with much rain. My sister has engaged herself to the youngest Smith boy, William. Your fine and old horse is still here and does very well and there is a chicken in the field that follows him about. It is highly amusing. When I see your horse, I feel closer to you. My dear, I hope you will rest contented. I hope you will write again soon. Be fully aware that I am ever yours, very truly and devotedly.
Fare thee well. Hattie.
Grace glanced up to see the big man wiping away a tear with a knuckle. She gingerly handed him the letter. She didn’t know what to say, so settled for, “She seems very sweet, indeed.”
Angel nodded and pocketed the letter. “She is.”
Grace stood.
“Wait, Miss.” His fingertips touched her arm. “Do you think you could help me write back to her?”
Compassion welled within her. The inability to read and write seemed the worst sort of limitation. “I’d be happy to.” She spoke soothingly. “I’ll need to get some paper and a pen, of course.”
Angel quickly pulled a pencil and a crumpled piece of paper from his vest. He spread the paper on the table and tried to straighten it with big hands.
“Perfect.” Grace threw Minnie a glance, but the other girl was busy rolling pie dough. She sank back onto her chair and grinned. “A resourceful man, I see. I’m sure that’s a trait Hattie appreciates.”
He shot her a shy glance. “She does, indeed.”
Picking up the pencil, she wrote the whispered words Angel dictated. For a gentleman with such a rough exterior, he was a romantic, and eloquent enough to keep the corners of her mouth lifted. Grace was just signing his salutations, when the door opened and she glanced up to see Luke entering the shop.
A rush of pleasure rippled through her at his appearance.
He frowned when he saw who she was sitting with. “What are you doing?”
“Uh ...” Grace wasn’t sure Angel would want her to reveal his affairs. With all the whispering, the letter felt like a secret between them.
Luke’s brows rose.
Angel stood, bristling, his hands clenching. “I don’t like the way you’re lookin’ at us, Mister.”
“It’s all right.” Grace waved a hand. “This is the Mayor of Orchard City. I’m sure he’s just here for some pie.”
Luke, his mouth parting, looked like he was going to say something, and Grace shook her head. “I’ll be with you in just a moment, Mr. Mayor.”
After a sharp nod, Luke wandered to the counter, and asked Minnie for some coffee. He took a seat while Grace dated and addressed the letter and slid it to Angel.
With a mumbled thank you, the big man quickly shoved it in his pocket and headed out the door.
Luke left his table to join her. “I have something for you.”
A tingle of excitement raced through her. “Yes?”
When Luke dug a piece of paper from the pocket of his shirt, she wondered if he wanted her to read him a letter, as well. She took the paper, realized it was a telegram, and quickly read it.
Regarding your admirer. He is traveling west. Be alert for his arrival. Remember needle in a haystack. My belief you should stay.”
A breath escaped her parted lips.
Regarding your admirer. The very words Mr. Carmichael had said he’d use regarding the villainous creature intent on harming her.
The Carmichaels had reason to believe Penny’s attacker had followed Grace out west?
Her throat clenched tight. Blood drained from her face. She became lightheaded with fear as she remembered the alley, the rage-filled face, the slashing knife. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest.
Needle in a haystack. A reminder of Mr. Carmichael’s assurance that she would disappear into the vastness of the west.
Had she? Or was the monster headed in her direction this very moment, assured of her whereabouts?
How could he have found her?
How could the Carmichaels even know he followed? Had the private investigators Mr. Carmichael hired discovered the villain? If they knew where he was, why didn’t they simply arrest the man?
“Are you all right?”
Luke’s concerned voice startled her from her reverie. She glanced at him, her stomach clenching.
He reached out a steadying hand to grasp her arm. “What is it?”
She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
Whatever had made her think that acting as bait was a good idea?
Grace swallowed and placed her hand to her chest. She admitted it. She was scared to death. She felt exposed, unmasked, bare, unprotected.
She looked out one of the large glass windows of the pie shop. What if the villain was close by? Right now, at this very moment? What if he was watching her? What, if anything, could she do about it?
She was just one woman, yes. But it was a small town … and she was a new resident, at that. If the scoundrel arrived here it would be very easy for him to find her. If the upcoming tournament wasn’t taking place, she’d have been able to spot the villain coming. That had been the original idea, anyway.
She looked at Luke. With his brows pulled together he looked both suspicious and concerned. Was there any way she could talk him out of the tournament? Would that even be possible? He liked her. She knew he did. Maybe she could use that? The widow certainly thought Grace could. As she continued to spend time with him, might she influence him to cancel the tournament?
H
e believed she was Penny Carmichael, an heiress with connections. Was that the true reason he spent time with her? Or could it be more personal? Could she actually sway him to her way of thinking? She just wasn’t sure.
“What’s the matter?” Luke demanded, becoming more and more concerned as the silence stretched.
Grace considered telling him the truth. He was a big, strong man. In all of the stories, men always liked to rescue the damsel in distress. But if she admitted she wasn’t Penny, how would he feel about that? For that matter, if it came out at this point, would Mrs. Braxton feel duped? Would Grace have a place to sleep tonight?
She expelled a long breath, shrugged, and folded the telegram. “Nothing is the matter. I’m fine.” She’d created this problem, she’d figure out a solution.
Anyway, chances were good that nothing would come of this, right? Who was to say the villain could even find her? Mrs. Carmichael loved nothing more than drama. Perhaps the woman had panicked over nothing and urged her husband to send a telegram.
Only, Mrs. Carmichael was in London.
And Mr. Carmichael was a very levelheaded man.
Renewed panic surged through her.
“Grace?” Luke’s gaze sharpened on her face.
“It’s just that a friend of mine from New York might be coming to town. That’s all.”
Luke looked skeptical. “Is this a good friend?”
“Just an acquaintance.”
At that, Luke sat back in his chair and seemed to relax. “Are you sure that’s all? You look more frightened and upset than happy at the announcement.”
“I’m sure.”
Even if Mr. Carmichael was correct, the west was a vast place. What were the chances that the villain would just hop a train and find her? What were the chances of him recognizing her?
She tried to bring his face to mind but it was more of a vague, shadowy shape—teeth pulled back like a mongrel’s, the slashing knife, the dark, piercing eyes. He’d worn a long, flapping coat and his hair was as dark as Penny’s was blonde.
Grace might not recognize him.
But as he’d been much more focused on Penny he probably wouldn’t recognize Grace either.
