Trent released the brim of his Stetson. “Ma’am. What can I do for you?”
She pushed a strand of white hair back into the bun. He glanced at Joey to find he’d closed his mouth, but his face turned so red, Trent would have sworn he was choking to death.
“You’re Sheriff Foerster?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am, Trent Foerster and this is my deputy, Joey Backer.”
Trent enjoyed watching Joey stammer out a hello. He’d never seen the man so befuddled.
“A pleasure.” She turned back to Trent. “I do hope you received my telegram.”
“I’m not sure. What’s this about?” he asked.
“About my delay in arrival. I’m Viola Guntherson, your new housekeeper.”
Eliza sagged into a kitchen chair. Now she must wait until he returned to tell him.
She’d reached a decision on the way back to town. She had decided that if Trent did not arrest her on the spot, she would go back to Bozeman and clear her name because, for the first time in her life, she had something worth fighting for.
Under similar circumstances, Trent would never have run. She was certain of that. She wanted to be like him. And if she ever intended to regain control of her life she needed to stop hiding like some little rabbit and defend herself.
The sound of water rolling into a boil brought her to her feet. She poured it into the teapot and heated some milk to make hot cocoa for Addy.
What if he couldn’t forgive her?
Eliza felt her heart wrench. What if this was all a lovely dream, a cruel taste of what she could never have?
She straightened her spine. If she was to deserve him, she must be the kind of woman that Trent Foerster and his beautiful daughter, Adeline, deserved.
One thing was certain, she would not return to the quiet, lifeless situation she had held. She had not recognized how stagnant her existence had become until she stepped into this house, with its joyful laughter and energy. She wanted to be a part of it, to breathe in the excitement and dive back into the river of life. All families were not like hers. There was love and tenderness here. And she wanted to be a part of it all.
“Addy, your cocoa is ready,” she called and heard the girl’s footfalls on the stairs.
A moment later she appeared in the doorway, clutching her doll.
“Can Penelope have some, too?”
Eliza took another cup off the hook.
Chapter Twelve
“If this is the real Mrs. Guntherson, then who the hell is watching my daughter?”
“Now, Trent, don’t do anything foolish,” said Joey.
His panic turned to rage in just one single heartbeat. Now he understood his deputy’s strange reaction on seeing the woman. It wasn’t that he was taken by a fetching female—just the opposite, in fact. Trent grabbed his deputy by the throat.
“You knew about this.”
Joey clutched at Trent’s wrist and nodded. “Yes, but—”
Trent extended his arm and Joey fell hard to the sidewalk.
“You knew and you didn’t tell me?” He whirled toward home, but Joey scrambled to his feet catching him by the arm. “Listen, Trent.”
He shook him off, worried he might shoot the man if he didn’t get clear of him. But his deputy hung on, tenacious as a rattlesnake.
“You’re fired, Joey. Clear up your stuff and be out of the office before I get back.”
His deputy’s face fell. “Fired?”
“Well, just what the hell did you think was going to happen?” With that, he took off toward home and his little girl.
A few moments later, Trent crashed through the front door, sending the wood panels ricocheting off the stopper and back at him. He catapulted through the now-closing door and registered a cry of alarm from the parlor. He changed directions, bolting into the room to find both his daughter and the imposter on their feet, staring wide-eyed in his direction. The imposter held a hand to her chest, a piece of chalk was wedged between her index and middle fingers.
Addy recovered first, jumping up and down, clutching a slate before her. She dashed across the room and into his waiting arms.
“Daddy! Look, I’m learning my letters!” From her perch upon his hip, she held up the slate for him to see, but he had eyes only for the woman.
He had carried his pounding heart in his throat all the way here, filled with a panic he had not known since Addy had the mumps. He held her tight and backed toward the door.
“What’s happened?” asked the woman, as if she didn’t know.
“Addy,” he said, still not looking at his girl, but keeping his attention fixed on the possible threat. If she had harmed one hair on his daughter’s head, he wouldn’t be responsible. “Go to Mrs. Milward’s house. Right now.”
The woman set aside the chalk and her own slate.
“I’ll get her coat.”
He lifted a finger and aimed it at her. “Not you.”
Her eyes rounded and the color drained from her flushed face. He’d been sheriff long enough to recognize the look of guilt that flashed in her features. She knew what was happening now. He would have liked to arrest her on the spot, but he didn’t want to upset Addy. Damn her for using his little girl.
He backed toward the door. “I hope you run,” he said through gritted teeth. “Because I sure would enjoy chasing you to ground.”
She gasped.
“Daddy?” Addy’s voice now rang with alarm. He knew tears were imminent. “What’s happening?”
He had her out the door and down the steps and to his neighbor’s threshold. He reached Kelly’s door and pounded.
Kelly appeared a moment later, ushering them in. She gave him a once-over and her eyes flashed with alarm.
“What on earth?”
“My housekeeper just arrived. The real one. I have no idea who that woman over there is, but I’m going to find out.”
Kelly Milward lifted Addy from her father’s arms, sheltering her with her body.
“But she’s…”
“Stay here.” He wheeled and ran back the way he had come, hearing Addy crying his name. She was confused and frightened, but she was safe.
When he reached his home again he did not know what to expect, but certainly not to find the imposter sitting with her hands folded in her lap, in the very same chair where he had left her.
She stood as he stalked toward her, her body trembling.
Eliza stared up at Trent, knowing now without question what it must be like to be hunted by this man. No wonder the town hired him. His expression alone was so fierce it turned her knees to water.
The day she had feared had arrived. He knew of her lie, had somehow discovered it before she could explain. She knew that any confession now would ring hollow as a rotting log. She had been given opportunities aplenty and she had squandered each one.
All she could do now was lower her head to shield herself from the terrible rage that blazed in his eyes.
Hot tears scalded her cheeks.
“Don’t you dare cry. Not after this.”
She startled and stared. His eyes had narrowed to slits.
“Do you think I can’t recognize crocodile tears? My God, I told you about Helen. And all the time you were lying to me. Was it all a lie then—everything?”
She could only shake her head.
He snorted. “As if I could believe anything you said. Damn it to hell! Why can’t I tell when a woman is lying? Missionaries and a boarding school. Mercy, how you must have laughed at me. Made a fool of me—just like she did.”
“They are missionaries,” she whispered.
“Stop! No more.” He loomed, sending her back a step. “You almost had me believing that things could be different.”
He took three steps across the parlor, fury making him pace.
“You’re the thief wanted in Butte, and I drove you out under their noses. I have your description on my desk.” He glanced at her and resumed his pacing. “And here you are right under my ow
n roof. That makes me the prize fool at the fair. Last place they’d look, isn’t that right?”
She sat with her hands folded, head bowed, looking contrite and miserable. But she had all the acting skills of her gender. Born deceivers.
“How did you get Joey to help you?”
She lifted her tearstained cheeks, beautiful even in sorrow. But this time he did not allow her to see the twisting of his stomach or the squeezing pressure of his heart. He’d not let her know that she could affect him, even now.
“I wanted to tell you. I tried—”
“Not hard enough. You used me and you used Addy. I ought to handcuff you and drag you all the way back to Bozeman myself.”
He stopped before her, the toe of his boot nearly touching the hem of her dress.
“Yes.”
That stopped him. When faced with adversity, Helen always tried tears first. If that proved unsuccessful, she begged very prettily and when all else failed, she flew into a rage that would have made the Furies proud.
So why did this woman agree with him?
“What game is this?” he asked. Had he really thought of giving this woman the ring his father had bestowed on his mother? He must have been out of his mind.
She lifted her chin, facing him.
“No more games. Take me back. I want to go. It is what I tried to tell you this morning. I’m through running, done with hiding because of something I did not do.”
His jaw dropped. If this was a trick it was a damn foolish one. Perhaps she expected him to drop his guard because she was a woman and because she appeared to be willing to go.
“I’m not buying it,” he growled.
“Nor should you. You are justifiably wronged. But I am not a thief.”
“That’s not what the telegram says.”
“Please listen.”
“No. You’re under arrest and will remain in your hotel room under guard until the sheriff from Bozeman can send someone for you, because I never want to see you again.”
Chapter Thirteen
The dining-room table hadn’t been used since Easter dinner. Trent’s mother only used it for special occasions. All other family meals were served at the large kitchen table, which was closer to the stove. Now, on an ordinary Saturday night, the lace cloth draped the mahogany and the best china graced the table, except Addy’s service. His daughter’s plate was enamel and so was her cup.
Trent stood in the doorway, peering in. It seemed Mrs. Guntherson preferred to serve here. Trent had thought that last night she was just trying to make an impression, it being her first dinner and all. But now he feared this was to be a regular event, rather than an occasional ritual. He didn’t like the dining room. It was cold, for one thing and the kitchen was more convenient to serve and…oh, damn it, he missed the other Mrs. Guntherson.
He might as well admit it.
Dinner was served the instant Trent finished washing up. He took his place, waiting while Mrs. Guntherson said grace in German. Then he poked at his stroganoff. The sauce was creamy and smooth, the noodles thick and yellow as the yoke of an egg. In fact, they were perfect in every way, and still he found himself wondering what disaster the other Mrs. Guntherson might have served him this evening.
He glanced at Addy’s untouched meal. She stared at him, steely-eyed as any outlaw. He pointed his fork at her.
“Eat.”
She lifted her own fork high, beside her ear and then threw it with all her might.
“Adeline Foerster!” he said, disguising none of his disapproval.
She sprang to her feet. “You made her go away! You ’rested her and made her go.” His daughter pointed an accusing index finger at him. “You…you meanie!”
Addy fled in tears, charging up the stairs in a clumsy retreat.
Trent stood, laid his napkin beside his plate and faced the rosy-cheeked housekeeper, who was in every way what he had once believed he wanted. She was an experienced cook, an older woman familiar with raising children. Here was the replacement he had hired for that which could not be replaced. How could he have been so stupid?
You didn’t get to choose who you loved, you didn’t get to interview who you would let into your heart. Such decisions were not wise or practical or clean. They were messy.
Mrs. Guntherson began to clear the untouched meal.
Her German accent turned all Ws into Vs. “Perhaps you will have an appetite later on. It will keep, you know.”
Trent nodded. “Thank you.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m just doing my job.”
Trent blinked at her retreating back. Yes, her job. But Eliza Flannery had been doing much more than a job, hadn’t she? Or was she just a consummate actress like Helen?
Why had she done it?
He didn’t know, because he had not even given her time to explain. He’d been so angry and so full of self-righteous fury, he’d not allowed her to speak.
“You’re a horse’s ass,” he muttered.
“What’s that now?” asked his housekeeper, already banging and rattling around in the kitchen.
“Nothing.”
He climbed the stairs, his feet leaden, and paused before his daughter’s closed door. He knocked.
“Go away!”
He opened the door anyway, crossed the room and sat on the bed beside Addy, who had curled in a ball around Penelope. She didn’t move away when he laid a hand on her shoulder.
“She wasn’t really Mrs. Guntherson,” he said, trying what he knew would not work on a child. Addy didn’t want logic or reason. She wanted the woman she loved.
Addy rolled toward him and sat up. Her tears cut him like tiny flakes of glass.
“I don’t care. I want her to stay and be my mother.”
That shocked him speechless for a moment.
“But…but Addy, she told us lies.”
“Only her name.”
“No, she pretended to be someone she isn’t.”
“But why?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t you love her, Daddy?”
His throat grew tight. He nodded and managed to growl, “Yes.”
“Then don’t let her go away. Bring her back, Daddy.”
He didn’t know why he allowed himself to say the next part, but he did.
“But Addy, what if she was just pretending to like us?”
His daughter clasped his hands and stared earnestly up at him. “She wasn’t, Daddy. She loves us both. I know it in my heart.”
His next words came out as a whisper. “How?”
“Penelope told me.”
He managed a smile as he laid a hand on his daughter’s head. “All right then. I’ll try to bring her back.” Or at least, try to learn the truth.
He tucked Addy into bed and read to her until she was sleeping. Then he told Mrs. Guntherson he was going out. He paused on the porch to stare at the Christmas tree that they had cut together. It lay on its side where it would wait until Christmas Eve, when Mrs. Guntherson would decorate it.
Trent dreaded Christmas already. It just wouldn’t feel right without his mother and…
And it wouldn’t feel right without Eliza.
He ran down the steps and into the snow.
Trent headed over to the hotel where Eliza Flannery, if that was her real name, was under guard by his new deputy.
Trent reached the second floor where his pace faltered as he took in the sight of Paul Landry sound asleep in his chair. He walked right by Landry, who sat propped against the wall beside Eliza Flannery’s door. Joey would never have been so careless, but he’d fired him and in his place was a man who obviously liked his sleep more than his job.
He paused, trying to decide if he should kick the chair out and then it occurred to him that their prisoner might have fled.
Trent threw open the door. Eliza, dressed in a white cotton night rail, sprang to her feet, clutching a hairbrush in one hand. She held the other over her heart.
He’d never seen her hair down before. It flowed in dark ribbons over her shoulders, reaching all the way to her elbows.
Trent stepped into the room, mesmerized by the way the oil lamp on the bureau shone through the thin fabric, revealing her tempting shape.
Eliza snatched up her robe and slipped her arms through the sleeves.
“Is your deputy still asleep?” she asked.
That stopped him. “You knew?”
She nodded.
“How?”
Her smile did not reach the sorrow shimmering in her blue eyes.
“He has a sonorous snore. I went out to check on him and he didn’t wake.”
“Then why are you still here?”
The smile dropped away. “I told you. I want to go back and settle this.”
Trent studied her features as she stared him straight in the eye, giving not the slightest indication that she lied. Even Helen looked away at such times. But not Eliza. Either she was a pro or she was innocent, and damned if he knew which.
“You want to go back and face justice?”
She lifted her chin and then nodded. She looked like a brave little soldier about to face battle for the first time. She trembled, but she did not run.
“Why didn’t you do that right off?”
“I should have. But I didn’t have a reason to fight then.”
What did that mean? Was she talking about them? His heart ached in his chest. Just seeing her brought it all back, the hope and then the crushing disillusionment.
He took in her expression, the hope reflected in her eyes and the stiff uncertainty of her clenched jaw. She’d let him down, that was certain, but wasn’t he now doing the same to her?
It occurred to him only then, that she had not one soul in the world that she could turn to for help and not one person in her corner, until now. He owed her that much, didn’t he?
“Telegram says you’re a thief.”
“I’m not.”
He nodded. “I believe you.”
She gasped. “You…you what?”
Western Winter Wedding Bells Page 18
