Before the Larkspur Blooms

by Caroline Fyffe

  “Innocent men don’t run.”

  Dwight was enjoying this all too much. But he was right. Innocent men didn’t run, and Thom hadn’t. He’d just packed up one night and took off, unable to stay in Logan Meadows another day. Unable to stand the look on his father’s face every time he thought about the shame he’d brought down on the Donovan name by accidently killing a friend. But leaving Logan Meadows had only led him to Rome Littleton and prison.

  “I don’t care if you are my cousin-in-law, Dwight Hoskins. You’re mean and crude. I don’t understand what makes you that way. I’m going for Albert if you don’t stop this foolishness this instant.” She glared up at Dwight. “Thom has served his time. Don’t you dare threaten him!”

  “I don’t need you fighting my fights, Hannah,” Thom said evenly. “I don’t want you to either.” He reached for the wrench, and Dwight drew on him.

  “I could kill you right now.”

  If it weren’t for Hannah standing so close, Thom might have taken Dwight on. But there she stood, like a beautiful goddess carved from marble.

  “You could, Dwight—but you won’t,” Thom said softly. “You know why? Because you don’t have the guts.” He took a tiny step in Dwight’s direction. “You were a spineless fool back when we were boys, and you still are.”

  Dwight’s laugh was a bit too forced to be real.

  Thom picked up the wrench and turned to the pump. He withdrew two worn-out washers from the contraption’s core, then replaced them with the ones in his pocket. He refastened the spout, then the pump handle. Screwing them down tight, he gave one last muscle-popping yank, just because it felt good.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jake lounged an arm on the walnut bar top inside the Bright Nugget Saloon and lazily placed one boot on the footrest. Irritation gripped his insides. All he wanted was for Kendall to get over here and pour him a drink. Was that too much to ask?

  Through the gold-plated mirror, he watched the lean, middle-aged bartender give Daisy a stiff dressing-down at the back of the room. The girl must be in some sort of trouble. She kept her mouth shut and eyes cast at the sawdust-covered floor.

  “You best remember that, missy,” Kendall threw over his shoulder as he turned and started Jake’s way. “That is, if you want to stay employed here!” He stopped behind the bar. Taking the draped towel from his shoulder, he wiped his hands. “Now, Jake, what can I do you for?”

  Annoyed with everyone and everything, Jake had decided to skip supper at the bunkhouse and distract himself with a game of cards. Problem was, he was the only customer in the saloon.

  “Whiskey.” He pulled a quarter from his pocket and placed it on the glossy wood.

  Kendall gave him a long look, then took a bottle off the shelf. He pulled the cork and poured a shot. The amber liquid swirled invitingly around the smooth glass. As the tumbler filled, the memory of bleary eyes looked back from its depths. Jake almost gagged as the stink of his mother’s liquor-coated breath wafted over him, more real than if she were standing by his side. Fury ripped through him, and before he could lose his nerve, he reached for the glass. Kendall stopped him with a hand to his arm.

  “I never known you to be a drinker, Jake.”

  “A lot of things you don’t know about me. Now, do I need your permission to drink the whiskey I just bought?”

  They stood eye to eye. “Guess not.” Kendall stepped back.

  “Good.” Jake tossed the shot down his throat, ignoring the burn that scalded his insides. He’d not give Kendall the satisfaction of knowing that his eyes felt as if they were about to pop from their sockets. He’d had whiskey before, of course, but never in such a large quantity. He breathed out, then smacked his lips. “That’s better. Give me another.”

  Kendall poured in silence.

  Jake turned and leaned against the bar, feeling the warmth in his chest and belly. He could see why men liked it. As Daisy made her way over, Kendall wrestled up the trash barrel and started for the back door.

  “Evening, Jake.” She smiled a bit sadly, and a hundred memories from his youth tried to intrude on him, threatened to wreck his good time. No doing. He kicked them out of his mind.

  “Evening, Daisy. Where is everyone? Town is sure quiet for a Friday night.” Light-chestnut-colored hair neatly swept to the top of her head in some sort of fancy style, and her full lips were painted soft pink. Her tight dress emphasized her tiny waist and petite, delicately powdered breasts pushing up to entice him. He was duly enticed. But when he dragged his gaze back up to her face, it was her emerald eyes, looking as though they’d seen a world of hurt and then some, that caught and kept his attention.

  “I don’t know. I was wondering the same thing. It’ll be a long night if I don’t have something to help pass the time.” She batted her eyelashes. When he didn’t say anything, she dipped a slender finger in his glass, then placed it on her tongue.

  Darn, she was young. Too young to be doing this. He wondered if she was even sixteen. He turned quickly and picked up the shot and tossed it back, now enjoying the scorched trail to his gut.

  “You in some sort of trouble with Kendall?” he said low, changing the direction of the conversation.

  She lifted her shoulder, and her eyes hardened. “He don’t think I’m earning my keep. Said I’m not working the men.” Her lips trembled before they flattened into a hard line. Lacing her arm through the crook of his elbow, she leaned into him with her lithe body, and every nerve ending he had ignited.

  His heart lurched, as well as other parts of him. As a young boy he’d watched from the dark shadows as his mother and the other saloon girls sold their wares. Night after night. Day after day.

  When her invitation went unanswered, she pulled back, hurt.

  “Daisy,” he said, wishing he could be someone else and take what she offered. She wouldn’t look at him.

  “I really need you, Jake.” It was a whispered plea. The sound of her voice gave him pause.

  Before he could answer, the swinging doors swooshed open, and Gabe stepped inside. He looked around the room and then headed Jake’s way.

  “Thought I might find you here,” he said, his tone instantly grating on Jake’s nerves.

  “Well, you found me. So what?”

  “What the devil is your problem?” Gabe shot back, sliding onto a stool. Daisy stepped away and started straightening up the already-straightened room. “You’ve been acting sorry for yourself for a whole month. I wouldn’t care except Jessie is worried about you.”

  Anger had been simmering in Jake too long. It bubbled up and spilled over. He took hold of the bar to keep from bashing Gabe in the face. They’d been like brothers for the last three years, and yet now it felt like he didn’t have a friend in the world. “Go meddle in someone else’s business and leave me alone,” he snarled, liking the surprise that registered on Gabe’s face. “I have a right to go wherever I please.”

  Gabe swung his arm wide. “So this is how you’re going to repay Chase and Jessie for taking you in? Putting a roof over your head and giving you a job? Darn good of you, Jake!”

  Before Jake knew what he was about, he grasped Gabe by the shirtfront and shoved him against the bar. “You’re always so Sunday-going good, aren’t you, Gabe? So attentive, so polite.” Their faces were only an inch apart, and Jake knew the exact moment his advantage of surprise was up.

  They were fairly matched in height and weight. Gabe shoved, and Jake stumbled back. He caught his balance, then swung with his left fist, connecting with Gabe’s jaw and almost knocking him down.

  Gabe took a step back, hands clenched at his side. “You sorry bas—” He clamped his mouth shut.

  “Go on and say it, Gabe. You’ve been thinking it since the day we met.”

  Gabe’s eyes glittered with anger. “No. I’ll not fight you. You can stay in this bar feeling sorry for yourself for as long as you want.”

  “You’re damn right I’m feeling sorry for myself. You would, too, if you didn’t kn
ow who your father was because your mother was a whore.”

  Behind him, he heard Daisy gasp. She made a swift exit up the stairs.

  Gabe watched her go for a moment. He rubbed his jaw. Finally he said, “I didn’t realize you were so upset, Jake. Thought you’d left all that behind you in Valley Springs.” He reached out for Jake’s shoulder, but Jake pulled back, not ready to give up the fight.

  Always the peacemaker, Gabe added, “I’m sorry. I just thought you were nursing your wounds over Hannah. Her not, well…” He was rubbing salt in the wound of Jake’s pride, and it riled his ire even more.

  Jake swung back to the bar and poured himself a third glass from the whiskey bottle Kendall had left. He couldn’t stop a bitter laugh. “Hannah? What could I offer someone like her? No. I knew I had no chance with her. But it just reinforced who I’m not and where I’m not going.”

  “Jake, be reasonable. Lots of men don’t know who their fathers are. Why—”

  “Save it for someone who cares, because I don’t.”

  The bar doors swung open then, and Rome Littleton strode into the room. After a quick glance around and a silent nod to Jake and Gabe, he approached the bar. He pulled a quarter out of his pocket and placed it on the bar. “Where’s Kendall?”

  “Emptying the trash,” Jake said, wrestling with his anger.

  Gabe leaned in close, keeping his voice low. “Look at Chase and the good life he’s built for himself. He told me he took his name from this town, when he got tired of not having a last name. He never knew either of his parents.”

  “I know that.” And he did. The story had helped him three years ago, but it couldn’t stop the thing deep inside that was eating him up. A longing for things that could never be. Things like respect. That was something Jake was going to have to earn for himself. “You about finished?”

  Gabe stepped back. The spot on his jaw had turned red. “Yeah.” He walked out.

  Rome gave Jake a quizzical look. “Buy you a drink?”

  Jake nodded. Slid closer, anger rolling around inside.

  Rome chuckled. “Shrug it off, Jake. Whatever the problem is can’t be that bad.”

  Kendall was back, and he pulled an expensive bottle off a lower shelf under the bar. “Your usual, Rome?” He set a glass on the bar and poured, then filled Jake’s at Rome’s direction. Rome’s clothes were new; his boots looked expensive. The other men seemed to respect the loner from New Meringue.

  “Like I said, shake it off. As you get older, you’ll find friendship is overrated. Doesn’t mean squat. It’s what someone can do for you; now that’s important. Figure out how you can work your disagreement with Gabe to your advantage.”

  Jake glanced over to find Rome smiling at him, as if gauging his reaction to what he had just said. Suddenly the quiet saloon was suffocating. Jake glanced at his glass as an eerie feeling snaked down his spine. Without saying a word, he tossed it back and walked out.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Thom circled around to the hitching post and his sleeping horse. The street was quiet. In his hands he carried the rectangular dish Hannah had offered as he’d exited the back door of the restaurant after fixing the water pump. Dwight had hovered the whole time and had even tried to interfere when Hannah approached him with it, but she’d turned on him like a she-wolf protecting her pups. Thom stifled a smile at the image.

  Next door, the mercantile was dark, save for one lantern that illuminated Maude Miller inside sweeping up. He hesitated for a moment at the closed sign, then advanced and knocked on the glass. It took the old woman a moment to realize she wasn’t alone.

  “Yes? Who is it?” she called as she leaned the broom on the long wooden counter. She looked out and took a step back when she recognized him.

  “Hello, Mrs. Miller?” he said through the glass. “It’s Thomas Donovan.” He smiled, trying to put her at ease, but he could tell she was frightened. Probably thought he wanted to rob her or something. “I don’t know if you remember me. My mother was Katherine Donovan.” His family used to have an account at the store, but Hannah had said his mother had closed it after his father had died. “I’m sorry to intrude, but I was kept late at work. Do you think I might impose on you for a moment? It won’t take long.”

  Her hand went to the white collar of her blue-and-tan dress, and her fingers moved nervously as the moments ticked by. It was no use. He gave a little wave. “Thanks, anyway.” Feeling low, he turned to go.

  He was almost to his horse when he heard the door open. “Mr. Donovan.” She widened the door a few inches but kept her foot behind it—just in case. “What was it you needed?”

  He stayed where he was on the boardwalk. “I noticed today that you had a crate of pullets out back. And another of cockerels.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I’d like to purchase three females and one male.”

  She looked at him for a long minute, as if weighing the risk. “How would you pay for them?”

  “Win Preston said he was going to come by and set up an account that would allow me to charge a few things until I got my first month’s pay. Did he do that?”

  Her eyes widened, and her shoulders seemed to relax a little. “Why, yes. He did in fact do that yesterday, now that you mention it.” He thought she gave a little laugh, but he wasn’t sure. “I’m getting on in age, you know. If you stay put, I’ll catch up what you’re after and be right back.”

  Thom waited next to his horse, cradling the ceramic pot from Hannah in one arm like a baby. It was slightly warm and smelled tempting, the rich aroma torturing his empty stomach. The door to the mercantile opened, and Mrs. Miller emerged with a gunnysack. The gray bag writhed as if alive, and fearful clucking filled the air. She handed it to him.

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She held out a small white bag. “A little surprise for you. No fair peeking.”

  Warmth seeped through Thom’s chest.

  “Go on now,” she prompted. “You don’t want to keep them in the bag for too long. Poultry traumatize easily.”

  Thom hurried around to the left side of his horse. “Thank you, Mrs. Miller,” he said, slipping into the stirrup and mounting awkwardly with all the things he had to carry. “You have a good evening.”

  Thom stabled his mount in the small shed behind the inn and tossed the horse an armload of hay. He glanced about, looking for Ivan. Had the dog chewed through the rope and run back to the farm? With trepidation, he covered the ground to the porch and gently set the gunnysack in one of the rocking chairs. The chirping stopped, as if the young poultry sensed they were in new surroundings.

  Kicking his boots clean, he opened the front door and stepped inside, instantly seduced by the scent of freshly baked bread. Mrs. Hollyhock turned from the stove, and Ivan, lying next to the fire, jumped up and ran to his side. It wasn’t a moment before the dog smelled the poultry on the porch and dashed to the door, barking.

  Thom set the dish down and grabbed for his collar.

  “Was Ivan a problem today?” he asked as Mrs. Hollyhock made her way over.

  “I went out to check on his water, and he gave me the most sorrowful face.” Her tone was gruff, but her eyes crinkled at the corners and her lips tipped up. “I felt guilty leaving him out.”

  “You needn’t worry about him.”

  “I know. Now come eat.”

  He picked up Hannah’s dish and gave it to Mrs. Hollyhock. “From Mrs. Hoskins for fixing her water pump.”

  Violet removed the lid. “Bless that child.” She looked up at him with twinkling eyes. “Cottage pie. The whole county wants to know how they make it. There’s something just a mite different in the flavor—and for the life of me, I can’t figure it out.”

  Thom led Ivan back to his spot by the hearth and told him to lie down and stay. The table was set for three, and a little flame danced on top of a candle between their plates. There was an extra place set at every meal, and Thom had grown so us
ed to it that he no longer gave it a second thought. Everyone was entitled to their secrets. “I hope you went ahead and ate your supper.”

  She stirred something in a pot. “No. We’ll eat together. It’s potato soup and a fresh loaf of bread. Now, cottage pie, too.”

  “I’m pretty rank.” He gestured to his clothes as he washed his hands at the sink. “I can take a quick splash in the creek. I promise to be fast.”

  She waved off his concern. “You’re fine. Later, I’ll heat some water for a proper bath.”

  Thom slipped the small bag from Mrs. Miller onto an empty chair as the rich aroma wafting from the stove made his mouth water. He thought of Hannah, her arms up to her elbows in bubbles, and it made him smile. Her flushed face had brightened seeing him instead of Win coming to fix her pump.

  Ivan whined and looked to the door. Without getting up, the dog slowly inched closer, like a sneaky child.

  “Ivan,” Thom said, sternly. “You stay.”

  “That beast has been jist fine since I brought him in. Been lying by the fire as quiet as a mole. Wonder what has his dander up? Maybe he needs ta go out.” She raised an eyebrow knowingly.

  Thom quickly sat at the table. He didn’t want the dog to spoil the surprise. If Ivan got the chance to get to the chickens, all heck would break loose. “I’ll take him out as soon as we eat. He can wait a few moments. My stomach is about to wear a hole right through.” She gave him a funny look. Thom flipped his napkin open and put it in his lap. With a slight turn of his body, he shot the dog a surreptitious glare. The shepherd dropped his head between his paws but didn’t take his eyes off the door.

  Thom picked up Hannah’s dish and passed it. “Ladies first.”

  Mrs. Hollyhock smiled and opened her mouth to respond, but before she could Ivan jumped up, bounded to the door, and began digging energetically at the base. He let go a long, pleading whine followed by a bark.