by Jo Noelle
She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You’re my boss. I took a big chance agreeing to court you. And I’m falling for you.” Rhona’s brows pulled together in an agonized expression, and her arms locked tighter around her. “But you’re not the marrying kind. Then what is all this for, Mark? Why did you talk to my brother? Why did you ask about courting? Why do we need to have the whole town talking about us if it could never come to anything?” Her voice died away.
A wave of shock slapped Mark, rendering him momentarily speechless. His heart leapt at hearing her say that she was falling for him, but that made his careless words even worse. A sinking feeling dragged through his chest.
At the time, he’d thought about the whole town knowing, and he didn’t like it. “I had thought the courting could lead to marriage. I still do—more each day than the one before,” he said. “I just don’t need that man going around telling my business. So, when I said I wasn’t the marrying kind, it was to put him off. I’d be a fool to say I hadn’t thought about it with you.” He took a small step her direction.
Although Rhona’s stance softened, he could see tears gathering in her eyes. “I guess I said the wrong thing.” He reached for her hand.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “You don’t know how women talk,” she said. “When they hear someone is courting, it means marriage. If someone hears about courting but not for marriage, the woman’s reputation is in question.”
It chilled his blood. He’d never try to hurt her, but he had. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Please believe me. I’d never mean to hurt you.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away. Then she turned her back to him, but he knew she was wiping more tears—it tore him apart. Without facing him again, she softly said, “May I leave a couple of hours early today? I need to think about things.”
Mark’s stomach clenched. He didn’t know how he’d messed up so badly, but he was sure he had. “Of course. Take all the time you need.” He wanted to hold her in his arms and pull her close. “When I asked to court you, I meant it sincerely. I hope we both decide whether we would suit.”
She nodded, then walked to the door to get her coat and began putting it on.
Before she left, he said, “I would give my soul to earn your trust back.” He’d courted her one day. Less than a day. And he’d made her cry.
“Thank you, Mark.” She stopped as she stepped into the open doorway. “You need to decide. I’ll only give you a few days. I’d like to know when I get back from taking Mrs. Sanderson to Denver. I’ll be back to work on Monday.”
It became obvious to Mark how dependent he’d become on having Rhona by his side. He now knew why men sometimes referred to their wife as their other half or their better half—he completely believed Rhona could be both. He worked the last two hours of Tuesday alone. He didn’t look forward to the next day or the next four days after that until she returned, if she returned. Several times, he found himself looking around for her, but she wasn’t there to talk to. He even missed her quiet presence as they worked. He didn’t need days to think it over. He’d already fallen in love with her.
On Thursday morning, he skipped breakfast at Hearth and Home. His reason for going there was already on her way to Denver. He unlocked the back door and let himself into the darkened shop. For weeks, he’d been walking inside with her. Now the place felt cold and cavernous without her to fill it. After hanging his coat, he surveyed the room. He was surprised to see a white stack on the front counter. That’s not where paper was kept, and it hadn’t been there the night before when he’d locked up. But there it sat—several inches high.
It couldn’t have been left by accident while his store was locked. How did it get here?
As he walked toward it, he could see the careful handwriting filling the top page. A title was centered at the beginning. The Cowboy in Silver City. He was astonished—it was Rhona’s novel. She had left her story for him to read. He glanced around the room, glad that he didn’t have many orders today. He had some time to read. When he picked up the stack, a smaller paper fell to the floor. He placed the manuscript on the table and went back for the note.
I want this published. That’s all. It was not addressed to him or signed by her. Perhaps she didn’t have time to leave a longer message before catching the train. Or she was nervous and that’s all she could write.
Did that mean that Rhona had forgiven him? He hoped so.
Mark sat the small table and read page after page. She had described life in a wild western town as it shooting a bull’s eye. How had she sat in the lush green of Scotland listening to the ocean waves and imagined towering rocky mountains? He could hardly wait to publish it. He was positive the Candle’s readers would be thrilled with the addition. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise him if a Denver paper wanted to post it too. He read all day. He was thankful for Rhona’s trust in him. He would have the first chapter in the newspaper on Saturday and save her a copy for Sunday night when she returned. He could hardly wait for her to get back.
He began typesetting her words and worked at it late into the night. His eyes burned, and his mind fogged over. It was time to get to bed before he fell asleep in the saddle. He would finish it the next day. If he worked hard and stayed late, he hoped to get two or three chapters ready for the press.
As he rode his horse past the Frog Knees Saloon, the same black wagon was pulling away from the back door. He reined his horse to the right and circled around the back of the Tivoli Ballroom, then watched as the empty wagon drove past him and down Main Street again. He had rationalized that maybe the previous delivery had been a result of bad weather or some unfortunate circumstance that pushed it back to midnight. Now, it seemed the clandestine deliveries were the rule and not the exception.
The next morning, Mark woke late. He decided to return to the Hearth and Home for breakfast. First, because no one made better juevos rancheros than they did, and second, because Rhona trusted him again. As he got closer, he realized that he would never be satisfied with only working with Rhona. He wanted to live with her and love her. He wanted to share her dreams. Marriage was his goal.
On Saturday, the Creede Candle ran a headline announcing two more mysterious deaths during the midnight hours. He would have rather had a banner headline for Rhona’s story, but at least he was able to keep part of it on the front page. Even with the sorrow reported on one side of that page, the citizens of Creede were in for a real treat on the other side.
Chapter 8
Rhona
Rhona sat on the train looking out the window, amazed to be living in such a beautiful place. The snow-covered mountain peaks cut sharp lines across the cerulean blue sky without a single cloud in sight. The tall lodgepole pines glistened with heavy laden boughs, and the meadows were filled with winter’s gift. She loved everything about living here. Present company excluded. Mrs. Sanderson snorted as she slept against Rhona’s shoulder.
That wasn’t fair of her. Mrs. Sanderson wasn’t an ornery sort, just very demanding. Rhona resolved to be kinder and more forgiving.
The train snaked through the Narrows, and she knew she was almost home. When had she started thinking of Creede as home? She had to admit that although Edwin had brought them here, it was Mark who made her want to stay. Creede was her home now and in the future and possibly with him.
She’d been taken by surprise last week when he’d said he wasn’t interested in marriage. She’d been overlooked for so many years that it had driven a spike through a nerve, she supposed. Unconsciously until that moment, she’d already set her heart on the marriage. Getting out of town couldn’t have come at a better time, letting her clear her head and put the incident into perspective. If courting didn’t lead to marriage, she would be glad to have avoided the sorrow of a poor match. If it did, she would be happy.
She liked so many things about Mark, and she’d never felt that way about a man before. He’d overcome a deficit in his childhood, rising to th
e stature of a respected citizen. He was intelligent and hard-working. Brave to come to a new town and try to make a go of it. And she simply liked the way he looked—his face, his shoulders, his legs. She often caught herself gazing at him as they worked.
Her chest ached a bit with the regret she had at letting her temper get away from her. He had a perfectly good excuse. How was he to know how women thought? She had suspected he was naïve about it long before their fight. He looked truly aghast when she’d explained it to him. Still, her pride was bleeding inside her, and she’d scolded him and left. When she was able to be rational about it, she admitted that her friends would never think poorly of her. And who cared what anyone else thought?
She could trust Mark as a gentleman and as her love. She knew his heart was good and true. She had been momentarily blinded, but he had only wanted what he thought was best.
Rhona wanted to apologize to Mark, but she was getting into town too late to go to church. If they hadn’t had to stop for the herd of cows across the tracks, she would have been in Creede in time to find him there. She didn’t know where he lived, but if she asked around perhaps someone would, maybe even Edwin. He could take her over to Mark’s house, and she would apologize. She felt she owed Mark that. If she could do it before Monday, they could go back to the way it was before.
The train pulled into the station and chugged to a stop. Rhona roused Mrs. Sanderson and helped her from the train. Then she walked to Hearth and Home. A bath, a meal, and then when she was presentable, she’d talk with Mark. That’s all she had to do today. Oh, and probably help with the Sunday meal service. When she entered the dining room, the bustle and happy noise of conversation welcomed her with another feeling of being home.
It seemed that all at once, the noise stopped, and every head turned to look at her. For seconds, no one moved. A few smiled, but most stared or whispered to their neighbor, looking her way.
Rhona wondered if she had dirt on her face or was in some way unpresentable. She tugged her coat tighter around her. Eileen delivered the food she had in her hand, then took Rhona by the arm and walked with her up the stairs.
“It will be all right,” Eileen said. “They’ll get used to seeing you around, and it will become normal.”
“Why shouldn’t it be normal?” Rhona asked. “We’ve lived here for months, and I serve them food every day. Is there something wrong with the way I’m dressed?”
“Not at all,” Eileen answered. “It’s just that you’re somewhat of a celebrity now. You should’ve expected as much. It’s all anyone has been talking about the past two days. Rhona this. And did you see that. And I wondered if Rhona . . . Yes, you’re quite famous.” Eileen put her arm around Rhona’s shoulders as they reached the top of the staircase. “I really couldn’t be more proud,” she said, giving her sister a little squeeze as they stopped in front of Rhona’s door. “I’ll get some hot water sent up. Do you need help with your dress before I leave?”
“No, I’ll be fine. But I don’t understand . . .” Rhona started, but her sister was already hurrying down the hallway. She let herself in and began stripping away the grime and smoke of traveling by railway car. She never would have thought writing about the town’s businesses and goings-on would make her stand out or be noticed. It hadn’t before.
She stripped off her travel clothes and lay under her blankets to ward off the chill of the room while she waited for the hot water. Before she knew it, her eyes were fluttering open, and the sun through her window had the slant of evening to it. It had been taxing, caring for Mrs. Sanderson in Denver. Rhona hadn’t realized how sleepy she was, but she was grateful for the short nap. As late as it seemed, she’d missed out on helping with the dinner service. It was still chilly in her room, but if she took a quick bird bath and dressed, she could help clean up the kitchen.
When she reached the bottom of the staircase, her family was sitting together at some tables with a few newspapers folded on top of them. Mark was there and stood at the sight of her. His broad smile warmed her through. Perhaps he’d forgiven her outburst.
“Took you long enough,” Isla said. “I was going to come up and wake you myself. This is your celebration, and I’d like to eat dessert before it’s stale.”
Millie walked in carrying a glass bowl filled with trifle. Eileen followed her with bowls and spoons. “Now that the dishes are done, you show up. We’ll save these for you to wash,” Eileen said with a wink.
“What are we celebrating?” she asked, taking a seat by Mark.
“Your story in the newspaper,” Edwin said, holding a paper in front of him.
“Shouldn’t Mrs. D’Arcy be here, then? It’s really a story about her.”
Her family chuckled. “Not that one,” Isla said.
“This one.” Edwin handed her the paper.
Her eyes scanned to the side of the headliner. The Cowboy in Silver City. She gasped. No. How could it be in the paper? Her stomach dropped to the floor, and blood pounded in her temples. Her gaze traveled to Mark, whose smile broadened. She couldn’t believe that he would just sit there after what he’d done. How could he think this should be celebrated?
Mark placed an envelope on the table in front of her. “This is your payment for the story.”
He seemed so pleased with himself. She never would have guessed this about him—the sneaky, underhanded thief! Of course, he had her family around. He probably thought she wouldn’t throw a fuss with them there.
Her chair scraped across the floor as she stood. Mark and Edwin likewise stood. “How dare you take my private property and spread it across town without my knowledge or my permission? Did you steal it all?”
Mark’s mouth hung open, and he shook his head, but he didn’t say a word in his defense.
What could he say, really? She picked up the envelope and tossed it at his chest. “Keep your money.” Tears clouded her vision as she crossed the room. “And return my story.” She lifted her skirts and ran up the stairs.
This time, when she lay on her bed, sleep didn’t come—only tears that ran out the corners of her eyes and raced down her hairline. Anger built up inside. She flipped to her stomach and screamed into her pillow. The betrayal was deep. Did he think she would celebrate being deceived and robbed? Did he think she’d be quiet? He wasn’t who she’d thought he was, and she mourned the loss.
On Monday morning, Rhona didn’t help serve the restaurant tables. She stayed in the kitchen and cooked. She also didn’t walk with Mark to work. She wouldn’t be working for him anymore or even seeing him if she could help it.
Isla came into the kitchen. “Mark would like two eggs over easy, a rasher of bacon, and for Rhona to speak with him.” She laid the order on the table, grabbed a plate, and left to deliver it.
Millie laughed, and Edwin turned toward Rhona. “You might give him a listen. There could be an easy explanation for this. Sometimes things get a little crazy during courting, but there’s usually an explanation.”
Rhona didn’t see how. “Did you give him my story?” she asked.
Edwin shook his head.
He didn’t look worried or guilty or even offended by the question, and Rhona wondered why. “Or did you let him into my room?” she asked Millie.
“Of course not.”
She had questioned all of her family that morning to see how he’d gotten it, and they’d said they weren’t involved.
Millie opened her mouth as if to say more but then appeared to think on it and didn’t say another word.
Isla returned to the kitchen.
“Tell Mr. Carroll that I have nothing to say to him, and I’m not in the mood to hear anything from him, either.”
Mark finally left after breakfast to open his shop, and Rhona began working with her sisters and Millie, cleaning the restaurant. All that day, she stayed busy and away from anywhere Mark could catch her. He’d come by several times over the past two days, but she’d made sure she wasn’t available to him. He’d returned her story, but t
he damage had been done.
The next day at midmorning, Julianne reminded her of Tuesday Tea. “You can’t hide away in the restaurant. Come with us. We’re all friends there.”
Rhona could use some female company. She wanted to listen to them talk about their lives and forget how hers had seemed to derail.
As she got closer to the tea shop, her nerves jumped and sputtered in her stomach. What would she say to the women if they had read her story? Of course they’d read it. What if they hated it and thought her silly for writing it? Maybe she shouldn’t go. But Millie and Julianne each had her by the elbow as they walked together.
They entered the tea shop, and a tight knot of women removing and hanging their coats clogged the doorway. She stepped through in turn and was relieved that the conversations continued. No one looked at her or stared at her. These were her friends. She exhaled the breath she was holding.
They must know that she’d be embarrassed. They would understand that she would’ve never put herself out in such a way. She ordered a cup of chamomile tea with the raisin and oatmeal cookies and sat at the table with Ariadne.
Although her mother wasn’t there to soothe her or talk to her, the cookies brought back memories of her childhood home and helped Rhona feel better. What would her mother say about this mess? Ladies continued entering the store, and for a brief moment, she thought she saw her mother huddled in the mass. When Rhona blinked, she was gone. She had wanted her so badly that she had imagined it.
When everyone was seated, and the desserts had been served, the conversation turned to the ladies who were expecting children. Around the room she heard, “How are you feeling, Nora?”
“Patience, when does the doctor think your baby will be here?”
“Have you picked any names, Millie?”
Of course the women all gave an opinion on whether the babies would be girls or boys. From the table beside her, Rhona heard, “Have you been throwing up, Benita? That’s the worst part.”
