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The Bride's Prerogative

Page 53

by Davis, Susan Page


  “Should we go fetch her, do you think?” Hiram asked.

  Ethan shook his head slowly. “I doubt they’ll come to grief having dinner at Bitsy and Augie’s. They don’t even serve liquor anymore.”

  “I should have told you about all this when Mrs. Adams first urged me to.” Isabel stared down at her untouched dinner.

  Libby caught her breath. “Well … in light of what we all know of Mr. Smith already and the behavior of his hired hands, I think it’s time you told these dear friends all.”

  Isabel’s pulse thundered. “You mean … everything?”

  “Yes. Your father’s relationship with your uncle, and the black eye he came home with tonight, and even the incident behind the barn.”

  Isabel’s eyebrows shot up involuntarily. “I didn’t really think Papa had killed him.”

  Ethan’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon.”

  She laughed, though it wasn’t funny. “It was silly, really. I saw Papa digging a hole behind the barn in the middle of the night. It was after Uncle Kenton left from that first visit. At least … I didn’t see him leave, but he must have. And I heard digging, and I went out there, and I thought—oh, it’s ludicrous. I can see that now. I’m so silly.”

  But no one else laughed.

  After a moment of silence, Trudy said, “And why did he dig the hole that night?”

  “I don’t know. But when Uncle Kenton came to the ranch a second time, I was relieved and saw that I’d let my imagination run away with me. I’m sure there’s an innocent explanation, but … I don’t like to ask Papa.”

  “Mrs. Adams said your father has a black eye?” Ethan asked gently.

  Isabel nodded and licked her lips. “He came home tonight looking as though he’d been engaging in fisticuffs. When I offered to tend to it, he got angry. I just don’t understand his moods lately.”

  Ethan looked over at Hiram. “Maybe I’d ought to drop in at the Spur & Saddle after all.”

  “Oh, please don’t run out in the middle of supper,” Trudy said. “I made your favorite cake—oatmeal.”

  “Wouldn’t want to miss that.” Ethan grinned at her.

  “Well then, eat up. Mr. Smith was here to get Rose not fifteen minutes before Libby and Isabel arrived. I’m sure they’re over at Bitsy’s enjoying their meal.”

  Isabel was grateful for Trudy’s practical advice, but she still wondered what her father was up to. He’d probably eaten his dinner and left the dishes and leftover food all over the table. She ought to go home. But she didn’t want to.

  Ethan got the coffeepot and filled all their cups while Trudy cut the cake. “I suppose I ought to see Cyrus and ask him what this is all about.”

  “Isabel, I’d like you to stay with me tonight,” Libby said.

  Isabel started to protest but realized how much she dreaded going home. “I haven’t anything with me.”

  Libby waved her hand. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve anything you could need in my rooms or the emporium.”

  “Well …”

  “That sounds like a good idea to me,” Ethan said. “I’ll try to see your father first thing in the morning.”

  Isabel blinked back tears. “Thank you. You’re all so good to me.” She smiled at Libby. “I shall accept your offer.”

  When they’d finished eating, Hiram rose and carried his dishes to Trudy’s work counter and took an apron from the peg nearby.

  “What’s this?” Libby called. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a man do dishes.”

  He smiled but said nothing.

  “My brother is very good about it on special occasions,” Trudy said. “Especially when he thinks I’d like to visit with my company.”

  “Well, your company will help as well.” Libby rose, and Isabel followed her lead.

  “I should say so. That was a delicious dinner, Trudy.”

  “Thank you, Isabel. Perhaps you can help me clear the table and Libby can dry whatever Hiram washes.”

  “I hate to be the slacker,” Ethan said, “but I ought to check in on the Nugget, and then I’ll stroll down to the Spur & Saddle. Won’t be long, if you’d care to take a walk after.” He waited hopefully for Trudy’s answer.

  She smiled and stacked the remaining plates. “I’ll be ready.”

  Hiram nodded to Ethan and kept his back turned to the ladies as he set up his dishwashing operation. He was certain Trudy was on to his feelings. Dare he hope she saw reciprocation in Libby’s attitude and threw them together on purpose? Libby’s face was flushed and her eyes a bit twinkly when she joined him, putting on the ruffled apron Rose preferred.

  His own cheeks felt warm, but he could blame that on the steam from the water he poured into the dishpan.

  “Clean towels in the drawer yonder.”

  “Thank you.” She opened the drawer in question and took out a linen dish wiper. Trudy kept Isabel in conversation about the box social. Hiram didn’t try to talk to Libby. He just enjoyed working beside her. He kept one ear tuned to what Trudy was saying about Saturday’s event.

  “So how did you enjoy having lunch with Parnell Oxley?”

  Isabel sighed. “That man’s manners could stand some improvement. But he appreciated my cooking, and overall it was not an unpleasant experience. I … don’t often mix with gentlemen socially.”

  Hiram smiled at that, thinking, If you could call Parnell a gentleman. Not that the cowboy was a bad person, but he couldn’t see Cyrus approving him as son-in-law material. No, the doctor might stand a better chance there—if he weren’t so downright poor.

  “How is the reloading coming?” Libby asked, and he snapped his head around. She stood there, cool and pretty as ever, watching him with a soft smile on her lips.

  He realized he was staring at her delicate mouth and jerked his face back toward the dishpan. “Pretty well. I should have a couple of boxes for you by the end of the week.”

  “No rush.”

  “I’m glad to get the work. My gun business has been slow this spring.” He scrubbed a plate and placed it in the pan of rinse water. He wasn’t used to talking a lot, not even to Ethan and Trudy.

  “I’m sure I can sell all you do.” Libby used a fork to help her fish the plate from the rinse water.

  The two conversations progressed quietly. Hiram gradually relaxed. He’d never supposed he could feel at ease with Libby, but somehow she chased away his nerves.

  All too soon, the dishes were done. Trudy put them away quickly, and Libby and Isabel reached for their shawls.

  “We enjoyed having you both,” Trudy said.

  Hiram looked at the floorboards. “Come again.”

  “Thank you so much.” Libby hugged Trudy and extended her hand to Hiram. “This made for a very pleasant evening, in spite of the concerns we all share.”

  He clasped her hand, feeling all kinds of happy as he looked into her blue eyes. All these years Libby had been just across the street, but things had changed. Lately he felt drawn to the emporium on the slightest pretext. Where he would have dragged his feet, he now flew to fetch any item Trudy could express a desire for.

  Isabel still carried a pinched, worried look, but she managed a ghost of a smile.

  “I do feel better, knowing you and the sheriff know about … about Papa.”

  Trudy hugged her as she had Libby, and Isabel bent her stiff arms and tentatively returned the embrace.

  Hiram released Libby’s warm, smooth hand and waited to see if Isabel would also offer hers. She didn’t, and the two were soon out the door.

  As they went down the back steps, Ethan returned.

  “Oh, Miss Fennel, I’m glad I caught you.” He took his hat off and paused below the stoop. “Mr. Smith and Mrs. Caplinger are still at the Spur & Saddle, eating dessert and listening to Miss Goldie’s piano concert. I expect everything’s fine.”

  “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  Ethan hesitated. “I saw your pa, too, at the Nugget. Thought you’d want to know.”

  Isabel ducked h
er head. “Thank you.”

  “If you think he’ll worry, ma’am, I could stop by there again and tell him you’re staying at Mrs. Adams’s.”

  Isabel shook her head. “He’ll probably conclude that I’ve gone to bed when he goes home again. I doubt he’ll realize I’m gone until he wants his breakfast.”

  Hiram wondered how much breakfast Cyrus would want if he was putting back the whiskey at the Nugget.

  During this conversation, Trudy had hummed softly as she donned her shawl and bonnet. Ethan waited until Libby and Isabel had turned the corner of the path and then came into the kitchen.

  “Well now, I see you’re a woman of your word.”

  Trudy laughed up at him. “Yes, I am.”

  “You never keep me waiting,” Ethan acknowledged.

  Hiram’s heart twisted just a little. Those two were so right for each other. Why on earth hadn’t Ethan taken her to the preacher yet?

  She turned and smiled at him. “I’ll see you later.”

  They left, and Hiram wandered into the parlor and lit the lamp. On the mantel sat his reloading tools and bullet molds. He walked over and took one down. If he got busy, he’d have an excuse to see Libby again tomorrow.

  The silent house comforted him after all the bustle and conversation. Days of hard work and long, quiet evenings had marked his life since … as long as he could recall. There had been a time, what seemed an eon ago, when he and Violet had looked forward to the noise and happy disturbance caused by a child. And Trudy had added some life to the house, but she had quickly adjusted to his melancholy mood and joined his detached existence without complaint.

  What had happened this year to put unrest in his heart? To tell him it might not be harmful to venture out beyond the placid confines of his life?

  He traced his new wistfulness back a year to the evening when Libby Adams had closed her store and come to shoot with Trudy. The old sheriff had been murdered, and Libby didn’t feel safe alone in her apartment over the store. Somehow, since that day, his life had turned topsy-turvy. And a great deal of the frightening change was due to the beautiful widow.

  Had the time come to alter his life in more significant ways? Trudy would leave him soon; he was sure of that. But Libby … he couldn’t imagine her living in this weathered little house. His mind rebelled at the idea of himself living in her rooms over the emporium. Trudy had told him about Libby’s elegant furnishings and expensive dishes and china. He wouldn’t want her to give up the lifestyle that apparently suited her. But would he become a storekeeper? No, he could never stand behind a counter, waiting on people all day—he knew he couldn’t. Neither could he let a wife run her thriving business and support him while he did … what? Fixed a gun now and then and reloaded spent shell casings?

  For the past six months he’d made more income from carpentry odd jobs than he had at his gun business. Augie Moore had talked to him Sunday about possibly tearing the bar out of the Spur & Saddle and using the cherry wood as paneling. Hiram would like that job. His hands itched to touch the smooth, wide boards. But would Libby consider tying herself to an impoverished gunsmith and occasional cabinetmaker? Maybe she wasn’t attracted to him at all, at least not in that way. Maybe she was just being friendly. She treated everyone in a pleasant, courteous manner.

  But no, he was certain he’d seen something more in her expression tonight as they laughed together over the dishpan. Of all the places to further a romance. In the lamplight, he carefully measured out the black powder for the shells he was reloading, smiling and thinking all the while of Libby’s blue eyes and creamy complexion.

  A firm knock on the back door startled him.

  Hiram laid aside his tools and stood. The knocking resounded again through the house.

  He didn’t pause to light a candle, but hurried through the dusky kitchen and opened the door.

  “Hiram.”

  “Mr. Fennel?” Cyrus mounted the top step, so Hiram stood aside and let him enter. Whiskey fumes drove him back a step toward the table. “Here, let me get a light.”

  “Is it late?” As Hiram struck a match, Cyrus dipped into his vest pocket and hauled out a large gold watch on a chain.

  “No, it’s quite early,” Hiram said. “I was working in the other room, so I didn’t light the lamp here in the kitchen.

  “Eight fifteen.” Cyrus snapped the watch case shut.

  “Uh … would you like some coffee?”

  “No, I just came to tell you I’ve got a piece of land I’m willing to sell you.”

  “Me?” Hiram cocked his head to one side and tried to fathom his guest’s intentions. Was Cyrus so drunk he didn’t know what he was saying? He didn’t sound that tipsy, but Hiram didn’t have a lot of experience in gauging a man’s relative sobriety. The way Cyrus was talking, and with a dark bruise shadowing his left eye and cheekbone, he might be halfway to insensible.

  “You. I know you’ve always wanted a ranch of your own. You came here hoping to buy one, didn’t you?”

  “Well yes, but … that was a long time ago, sir.”

  Cyrus nodded as though he had it all figured out. “You wanted the ranch I’m living on.”

  Hiram cleared his throat. “You want to sell your home ranch? I’m sure I couldn’t—”

  “No no.” Cyrus’s mouth twisted in annoyance. He pulled off his hat and held it by the crown, waving it before him. “Not that one. I live there. It’s the one out where the Logans used to live. Andy Logan sold out to me when he pulled up stakes five years or so ago. Quarter section. There’s a well and a soddy.”

  Hiram shook his head. “I’m not interested. Sorry.”

  Cyrus blinked at him. His mouth drooped. “Oh. ‘S all right.”

  For the first time, Hiram thought the man might be very drunk. “Uh … would you like me to drive you home, Mr. Fennel?”

  “Why would I want that?” He drew himself up for a moment, tall and imposing. The fuzziness left his eyes, and they focused with anger. “Are you implying that I’m—”

  “No sir, I’m not implying anything. It’s just that it’s getting late, and—”

  “Late? You said it was early.” Cyrus fumbled in his pants pocket. Hiram almost told him he was dredging the wrong pond when he pulled out another watch, this one silver. “Ha! Twenty past eight.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Cyrus nodded emphatically and shoved the watch back into his pocket. He fixed his gaze on Hiram. “You sure you don’t want to buy some land? I’m short on cash. I’ll give you a good deal.”

  Hiram shook his head. He didn’t want to make enemies with Cyrus, but he certainly didn’t have the wherewithal to buy a ranch, and if he did, the old Logan place wouldn’t be his choice. “Maybe you could make Bitsy and Augie an offer. Or someone else with money. The Walkers, maybe.”

  Cyrus clapped his hat onto his head.

  Hiram wondered if he ought to let him leave. And should he tell him that he’d find an empty house when he got home? Isabel had distinctly declined Ethan’s offer to take the news to Cyrus. But he was right here….

  Hiram watched him walk to the door.

  “Watch your step there.”

  Cyrus fumbled with the latch.

  “Here, let me help you.”

  A moment later, Cyrus was gone. Hiram leaned against the doorjamb and gazed up at the three-quarter moon over the mountains. He hoped Ethan was making good use of that moon.

  CHAPTER 29

  Ethan held Trudy’s hand as they walked slowly along the riverbank.

  “The water’s low,” she said. “Before we know it, that stream will be down to a trickle.”

  Ethan stopped and turned toward her. “Trudy …”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s something …”

  “What, Ethan?”

  He hesitated, his heart racing. Just for a second, he wasn’t sure he could do it. But the image of Hiram standing behind him with a pitchfork prodded him. Quit that, he told himself. You know you want to do th
is. He felt calmer then, because it was true. He did want to propose, and even more, he wanted to marry Trudy. That was all he needed to think about.

  He held on to her hand and went down on one knee on the grass. “I love you so much.”

  She inhaled raggedly, staring down at him. Her eyes were almost luminous in the moonlight.

  Ethan sucked in a lungful of air and blurted, “Marry me, Trudy. Please? I’ll take good care of you.”

  She didn’t say anything, but her face melted into sweetness so intense he feared she would cry.

  “I didn’t mean to make you wait. I’ve been saving for some things for the house, and thinking it would be nice to take you to Boise for a wedding trip, and—”

  “I don’t need any of that.” She laid her free hand gently on his shoulder.

  He gulped. “I never felt this way about anyone else. Will you … will you be my wife?”

  “Yes.”

  As soon as he heard it, he sprang up and engulfed her in his arms. “Trudy, Trudy.”

  She raised her face to him, and he made himself calm down and lean slowly toward her to kiss her.

  Ethan walked her to the kitchen door at quarter to nine. Trudy hated to let him leave, but his sweet good-night kisses would carry her through the next few hours.

  She peered into the house. The kitchen was dark, but the lamp glowed in the parlor. Turning in the doorway, she let her bonnet slip down her back and slid her hands onto Ethan’s shoulders. He stood on the step below her, bringing them close in height.

  “Thanks so much,” he whispered, drawing her into his arms.

  “Tonight was lovely.” She let him kiss her again, treasuring his sweet tenderness. It was new enough to set her a-tingle but familiar enough that she could nestle against his collar bone after and cling an extra moment with no fear he would think her too forward. He smelled of leather and soap and mountain wind.

  He twirled a lock of her hair around one finger. “I love you, Trudy.”

  She smiled in the darkness and traced his badge with her fingertips. “I know. I’m glad.” There was a lot more she wanted to say, but they had time. Years and years ahead. “I love you, too.”

  He kissed her again then pulled away. “Guess I’d better go ‘round to the Nugget again. He touched the end of her nose. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

 

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