by Angie Dicken
* * *
Aubrey was much more prepared to take on the hustle of Alva this morning. Especially with Cort’s rent payment and a good talk with Dr. Mills. He promised to give Ben a proper cast soon. And with her replenished purse, she’d finally buy a horse. Things were looking up—as long as she wrangled away thoughts of the rugged cowboy who’d nearly lassoed her senses. Independence had found her overnight, yet she was reckless with her heart around the handsome Mr. Stanton.
In their quiet moment last night, Aubrey understood more clearly why her mother might have fallen for a man like Ed Huxley. Although Cort was nothing like her father, he had that secret which might just make him as unreliable as Pa in the long run. At least she had resisted Cort’s hand-holding attempt on the ride into town today. Enough was enough. It was as if God was warning her to not give up on her pursuit of freedom so quickly.
She wove through the tents and framed-in storefronts, trying to find the tailor Mrs. Jessup had told her about. An assortment of colors splashed in and out of her vision as the canvas flap of a tent wrestled with the breeze. She worked through the crowd and peeked into the tent. A small wood sign leaned up against a chest. It read, William Caldwell, Tailor and Shoemaker.
“May I help you?” A voice traveled from around a wire mannequin adorned with a pin-striped waistcoat. Aubrey followed the neat seams to find two beady eyes peering at her from around one shoulder.
“Actually, yes.” She swept a hand across a particularly rich-looking swatch of velvet. “Your inventory is wonderful.”
“Aye. It is.” His Irish lilt was as obvious as his hint of pride, even with a pin clenched in his teeth. “Didn’t expect so much of it to arrive before having a store to stock.”
“My mother had a dress shop back in Wichita.” The mention of it swept Aubrey back two years. The hum of her Singer, the smells of lavender sachets and the lingering perfumes of affluent customers. She fiddled with the buttons of a neatly folded shirt upon a trunk. Mr. Caldwell rattled on about his opportunity as a gentleman’s servant traveling from Ireland, and how his boss allowed him to apprentice under a tailor back in Pennsylvania, and now he’d ventured on his own with many clients to call on. Aubrey suddenly grew envious. A successful story of dependence to freedom.
“You’ll sew for the rest of your life,” she muttered, entranced by the fine needlework on a crisp handkerchief.
The busy tailor laughed. “Of course. Unless my hands fail me before my heart.” He winked.
“It must be lovely.” Aubrey sighed. She straightened the shirtwaist upon another mannequin and then mustered up some courage. “Do you sew gowns?”
“Nay. I am a tailor, not a seamstress.”
Aubrey browsed through the rest of the fabrics. “Have you had any inquiries about dressmaking?” She tried to calm her insides while making such a business proposition.
“Nay. I suspect pioneer women are quite able to care for themselves.”
“But certainly there are some who’d need the service, even occasionally?”
“None of my concern. I’ve enough work with the gents.”
Aubrey straightened her shoulders and approached the tailor. “Sir, I would like to propose a business opportunity.”
The spindly Mr. Caldwell, with his puff of red hair at his brow and his thin glasses slipping down his nose, gave Aubrey a once-over. “And you are?”
She blushed at her lack of professionalism. “Forgive me. I am Aubrey Huxley. I own land east of here and would like to find work in town. My expertise is dressmaking.” And horses, but that hardly seemed appropriate to mention. “Would you consider my working in your shop?”
“What good would that do for me?” He looked around the tent and threw his hand up in the air. “I’ve done all the work to establish my business. So out of the goodness of my heart, I will let an eager seamstress use my equipment?” He snorted and returned to his waistcoat.
Of course, she wouldn’t expect to use his supplies without a price. Aubrey doubted she’d ever like this man and swiveled on her heel to leave without even a farewell. He was rude and arrogant.
Mr. Caldwell added, “Besides, you will not find enough clients around these parts. Like I said, the women are quite self-sufficient on the prairie.”
Aubrey stopped. She winced at the knowledge that she was nothing of the sort. How often over these past few days had she depended on those around her—Cort, Dr. Mills and Mrs. Hicks? Was every other woman out here more able than she? No, she knew of at least one who had mentioned the need. Sarah Jessup. Surely there were others.
“If I find the need, will you allow me to work in your space? For your own cut of the profit, of course.”
The tailor smirked. “You are persistent, aren’t you?” He stood and hooked his thumbs in his own waistcoat pockets. With one long stride he stood in front of her. “A chance at more profit? You make quite a bargain, Mrs. Huxley.” He rubbed his chin. “If you find a woman in need, I wonder what husband she might bring my way?” he muttered. Staring over his spectacles, he said, “You must find six customers for me to consider taking you on. That would hardly pay for the cost of my next shipment of buttons.”
Aubrey scoffed at Mr. Caldwell. He was either a joker or a narcissist. Perhaps both. But her pulse sped up at the thought of how close she was to securing a steady income and indulging her passion to sew.
“Six?” Aubrey fiddled with her gloves and then clasped her hands together. She gave Mr. Caldwell a pointed stare. “If I find six clients of my own, we will have a deal, Mr. Caldwell?”
He scratched his head, then held out his hand. “Consider this my act of kindness.” They shook.
After they discussed his percentage of the profit, and she had negotiated him down from an absurd number, they shook again. The chance to make dresses overshadowed the fact that it all depended on the skeptical Mr. Caldwell. And six frontierswomen.
Lord, lead me to six women quickly. And may Mr. Caldwell’s word be more appealing than his character.
Aubrey stepped out from the tent, squinting in the bright late morning.
“Thought I’d find you here.” Cort leaned against a barrel outside a makeshift general store. His hat was tipped low, barely above his vibrant green eyes. Just like the first day Aubrey met him at the corral, his hair curled at his neck and he wore a melt-worthy grin.
She looked up and down the aisle of tents, then crossed the path. “Did you get what you needed?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He winked. “All waiting at the hitch. Can’t wait to get started on building. How ’bout you?” He rubbed his hands together and they began to walk to the center of town. “Did you get a horse?”
“No, not yet. Guess I should head that way.”
“Well, I think I’ll get back to the ranch. Mr. Hicks is waiting on me.” They had come to the half-built-up town square. “Unless you’d like a second opinion on a horse?” He raised a brow. A smirk seemed to tug at the corner of his mouth. She lingered her gaze, waiting for that dimple to appear.
“If you remember, it was my second opinion that bought you your horse.” Aubrey tipped her chin up and playfully batted her lashes. “I am just fine picking out my own horse.”
He gave a hearty chuckle and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Very well. Got more lumber than I expected. It’s going to be a long haul. You might catch me before I even get there.”
“Oh? Mr. Hicks is building more than a soddie now?”
“Nope. Just picked out some beauts for my own door frame and windows.” He started walking off. “And some for you.” He continued on, clearly pleased with himself as she spied that dimple appear before he completely turned away.
Aubrey tried to convince herself that he was just the hired ranch hand, albeit a generous and thoughtful one. But her common sense was losing its hold on her well-guarded heart
, and she was frantic to calm its erratic rhythm. Was there any moment over these past few days that Cort Stanton didn’t think of her in this great venture to build her mama’s dream?
It seemed he knew better what Aubrey needed than she did.
Maybe Cort was a godsend more than she’d care to admit?
Chapter Eight
Cort spent a couple of hours with Mr. Hicks, all the while anxious to begin staking out his soddie. His dugout was comfortable enough, but a house of his own? Well, it was the next best thing to owning land. Aubrey had agreed to his suggested location with her matter-of-fact nod, then set up a midday meal for her brother. If only Cort didn’t have to work with Ben glaring at him from beneath the mesquite trees. If Aubrey wasn’t there tending to him, Cort wondered what sinister words would accompany Ben’s threatening stare?
Instead, Ben just complained to Aubrey that the doctor was taking too long to arrive. Finally, his sour attention dissipated as he settled back to nap.
Aubrey brushed off her skirt and strode over to Cort. “I’ve been thinking. You’ve had all this experience helping Mr. Hicks, so maybe I should stay close and build mine just over there? Learn as I go?” She pointed eastward beyond their usual nightly fire spot and his own half-cleared fourteen-by-sixteen-foot plot.
“Oh? You want to be neighbors, then?” He tried to contain a beaming grin, reminding himself that this was business only. Perhaps he should sway her from such close proximity?
Aubrey rolled up her sleeves and retied her hair ribbon. “Show me what to do.”
She was determined. No messing with that.
He wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief. “First things first.” He grabbed her hand. She shot a glance in Ben’s direction. He was sleeping soundly. All tension melted away from her grip, and she allowed him to guide her to the corner of his freshly cleared ground. He took her other hand, his shadow angling across her petite frame. His chest pounded with the fanciful thought that they were plotting out a future—together. It couldn’t be so. Even if it did pan out that way, he’d never be sure when life was his own again. His mind was at war with the exhilaration coursing through him. “How far apart do you want our houses to be?”
She looked up at him, one eye squinting away the beaming sun, the other, brown and gold, sparkling and attentive. “Far enough.” She gave a smile, one that did nothing good to keep his thoughts in their rightful place—unattached and unaffected by a treasure that he didn’t deserve. She squirmed away from him, pacing eastward and stopping about ten yards away. While she began to take small, measured steps to stake out her plot, Cort forced himself to work instead of stare.
As they cleared their plots, they did their best to preserve the sod for the initial base of their house walls.
“Make sure you place the sod-side downward. Before the grass dies, the roots will attach themselves to each brick and then the whole wall will stay strong.”
“How do you know all this?” Aubrey questioned in a raspy voice as she put her whole self into working the plow.
He shrugged his shoulders. “Just do. Seen enough sod houses built in my time.”
By sunset, they’d cleared two large rectangles and got started on the walls, only stopping when Ben demanded to be taken down to the dugout. The doctor failed to arrive, making Ben’s sour attitude worse.
Cort and Aubrey returned to survey their work, tired and sunburned.
“Are you sore like I am?” Aubrey rubbed her shoulder, collapsing beneath the meager shade.
“It’s a good sore, isn’t it?” He sat beside her, plucked a piece of grass and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “I’d take an aching back from honest work, any day.”
“You are better than me, then, Mr. Stanton. I’d rather have sore fingers from sewing than this kind of pain.” She took a sip from her canteen. Cort diverted his eyes from her lips. Her new horse grazed next to his own. He had admired her pretty mare all day. Long, strong legs and a healthy coat. Nothing like the horse that her father had tried to sell him.
“Did you find any work back in Alva?” he asked.
“I found a challenge.” Aubrey untied her bonnet and placed it in her lap. She gathered up all the loose strands of hair and tucked them into her braid. “Seems like I’m going to have to prove myself to Mr. Caldwell. He doesn’t think there’s a need for a seamstress in these parts. But I hope to find six customers to show him. Going to get some ideas from Sarah Jessup. Maybe Mrs. Hicks would be interested?”
“Six?” He whistled. “I’ll pray for that. You have a lot on your hands besides starting a business.”
“Thanks for the confidence, Cort.” She stood up and straightened her skirt.
He leaped to his feet. “Building a house is not an easy task. And then to make six dresses?” He lifted his hat and scratched his head. With the Cherokee Strip ablaze in a drought and her brother practically bedridden, he couldn’t stand the idea of sitting back and witnessing Aubrey buckle under all the pressure. Funds for a far-off horse ranch could wait. She needed to build a home and give her brother a proper place to heal.
Why was he so determined to protect this woman? Was it because of his guilt for breaking Ben’s leg? That would dissolve with Ben’s recovery. He’d not credit his natural attraction to such a beautiful, strong woman. No, there was something else that urged him to help her succeed. Perhaps it was the same thing that drove him to prison? The same determination to secure a hopeful future for his nephew and family name. Cort wasn’t sure if his desire to promote others was a blessing or a curse. So far, he’d only seen consequences. No fruits.
“I can handle it all, Cort. It’s something I’ve dreamed of. If my mama could save as much as she did amid a broken marriage and raising a family, then I can certainly care for my land and my pocketbook.” She sipped from her canteen then hung it across her torso, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.
“All I’m saying is build your house first, Aubrey. Worry about your ranch later.”
Her cheeks reddened. “If only you knew how many times I’ve heard that before. Wait and worry about the ranch later. Pa used to say the same thing to my mother. And look what happened. He took advantage of her and sold her horses. He didn’t care about the ranch.”
“I am not saying it to hold you back, Aubrey. There’s so much to be done, but priorities can help you—or destroy you. I’ve seen that happen with my own brother. He put everything above his family. And it nearly crushed them in the end.”
Her eyes wobbled with moisture. “I...I didn’t plan on Ben coming along and needing my help...but I’ll do that. And I’ll get work.”
He reached for her elbow. “Aubrey, let’s do one thing at a time. You’ll wear yourself out—”
She shook his arm away. “I’ve got to do it all, Cort. For my mama’s sake and for mine.”
“I was just trying to give you some perspective.” He kicked at the dirt. “Believe me, I know how to manage a ranch, and once it gets going, you aren’t going to have time for sewing or broken legs or anything else.”
A gust roared through the grasses and rattled the crisp tree leaves. Aubrey gazed across the prairie toward the spot where Cort had first staked land. But her chestnut eyes lifted higher, resting on the far horizon where they’d journeyed from just days ago.
Her chest heaved with a deep breath, and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I didn’t realize that your opinion came with the land that you chose to give up. Perhaps I’m not the foolish one with a loss of perspective?” Aubrey bit her lip. Regret carved her brow in long creases. She opened her mouth to speak then grimaced as if thinking better of it.
All he could do was stare at her. His nostrils flared and he tried to tamp down the humiliation that burrowed through his chest. He tossed his sweaty handkerchief next to his empty canteen and walked away.
&
nbsp; “It seems the sun has gotten to that pretty little head of yours.” Cort’s ears were on fire, and he could hardly think straight as he stomped away.
“Pretty little head?” she called from behind. “How dare you, Cort? I am not just a silly woman to brush off. I am your landlady, and I do not have to put up with this.”
He raised a hand up, not looking back. “Fine. Don’t. I am going to skip supper tonight.”
“Well, me, too.”
“Good night.” He plowed through the tall grasses and didn’t take a breath until he made his way down the carved-out path along the ridge.
He really shouldn’t have talked like that to a lady, but she just knew how to irritate him with her sharp tongue. His fingernails dug into his palms. Even if she was partly right, he didn’t need to be reminded of his folly. Aubrey’s sharp retaliation stung, and the word foolish bored a hole deep in his heart. Everything about the Stanton way was fool’s folly.
After watching his father sit in a jail cell most of his childhood, Cort had tried to do good. Especially after a few years of schooling under the pretty Mrs. Parsons. He’d pretend she was his mother. For the first time in his ten-year-old life, he’d felt like he understood what it meant to be honest and respectable.
When she moved away, school just wasn’t the same. And since his brother had dropped out the year before, Cort eventually did the same.
Mrs. Parsons’s kind but firm words were never far from him, though, when his soul seemed thirsty for goodness.
“Stay away from a fool, for you will not find knowledge on their lips,” she’d said the day she left. Took him by the shoulders and stared him straight in the eyes. Mrs. Parsons knew that he’d grow to be a fool. At least she’d tried to postpone it a little.
