That’s not right. Gasping, Cinnia jumped to her feet. “I object.”
Mr. Morgan stopped and looked her way. “This isn’t a trial, miss.”
“I don’t care.” She shook a finger in the air. “I object to the term ‘service’.”
Nola pulled her down by the elbow and hissed, “Don’t make the process longer with an argument over semantics.”
“Apologies, miss. One group has paid for a time slot…” He looked at her with raised eyebrows.
Cinnia nodded, although there was still something wrong about the choice of words.
“A time slot that the other party had no knowledge was being sold.” He dropped a hand into his pocket and jingled coins as he paced. “Have I stated the problem correctly?”
“Look, Mayor.” Clayton stood and crossed both arms over his barrel chest. “I’m not one for fancy words. We paid our dollar last night. We want to spend the hour with the woman of our choice, or we want our money back. Simple as that.”
“What money?” Unable to stop herself, Cinnia stood again and stepped forward. “Mr. Thomas gave us nothing. If the truth has to be told, our manager took the money you gave him.” She swallowed hard against the lump that formed in her throat. She really had been wrong about the man’s integrity. “Just like he took the admission money from last night.” She paced toward her troupe friends at the end, turned, and started to walk back when she was confronted with a stern-looking Mr. Andrews holding out his jacket. What’s he doing? I’ve got everyone listening to what I’m saying.
The tall man took a step forward and draped his jacket around her shoulders, holding it in place. “For the love of Petya, stay seated on the danged bench. The lantern light shines right through your gown.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. He pressed a hand to her lower back, nudged her toward the bench, and then moved back to his spot against the wall.
Oh, my stars. Cinnia crossed her arms over her waist and tugged the jacket around her, glad the length hung to her mid-thigh, and quickly sat. Everything happened so fast she barely had time to register the sweet scent of the jacket and the warm pressure of his hand on her lower back.
Nola patted her leg, and Dorrie smoothed a hand over her shoulder.
Their consoling actions didn’t help. Heat started at her hairline, crept over her face, and down her neck. Cinnia ducked her head, too embarrassed to look anyone in the eye. All her concerns about being looked upon as a lady had just flown out the window.
CHAPTER SIX
Nicolai heard what the mayor said—those having an interest should stay. As sounds of benches moving and footsteps shuffling on the wooden floor filled the air, he settled back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. The only way he was leaving was if someone, more likely two someones, carried him out. An exchange of curt nods with Quaid assured him the new arrival shared his sentiments and would remain at his side.
Women without male relatives needed a man to stand nearby, ready to step into the forefront if their well-being—or their bodies—were threatened. In his book, that constituted an interest. This he could do for his auburn-haired Cinnia—in the same way he’d want an honorable man like himself to remain close by if either of his sisters, Katya or Orlenda, needed a guardian.
The previous night when he’d first heard the manager’s suggestion, he’d known this bride scheme was a foolish idea. Single women in a town of a couple dozen bachelors hungry for female attention were bound to cause problems. Guilt nagged at him that he hadn’t been more vocal in his opposition. Although he’d fully expected the manager to act out the role he announced—as a broker, he should have been the one to monitor how the “bought time” would be chaperoned. His newcomer status led Nicolai to doubt his words of opposition would have held much sway.
The discussion started, and he vaguely heard the mayor’s attempt to get more details. Nicolai didn’t envy the man who had the responsibility to arbitrate this mess. Instead, he occupied himself with watching Miss York’s profile, how her shoulders stiffened, and her chin jutted in reaction to what was being said.
Then the woman jumped up and said, “I object.”
What? With a single push, Nicolai came off the wall into a stiff stance. The lantern light shone right through the loose-fitting gown she wore, revealing her legs, showing each—Thank the saints, she’d regained the bench. He blew out a breath and unknotted his shoulders. Slowly, he leaned back against the wall and swallowed against his too-dry throat.
“What money?” Miss York was on her feet again.
Oh, sweet Sergius, this time she paced, displaying the silhouette of her shapely calves with each stride.
Nicolai bolted from the wall, yanking his jacket down his arms as he rounded the benches.
As she talked, she moved toward the area where the performers had been earlier.
Her march gave him enough time to shoot murderous glares at the miners who tracked her every step. He held out his jacket, fighting to control his shaking hands.
She turned and stumbled, giving him a wide-eyed look.
I won’t be sucked under by her luminous green eyes. The woman had no idea what she’d put on display. He stalked forward and swung his jacket around her, holding his hands on her shoulders in case she tried to shrug out of it. “For the love of Petya, stay seated on the danged bench. The lantern light shines right through your gown.” Even through the thickness of his leather jacket, he could feel that she wore no corset. Before he said anything else, he clamped his jaw tight then escorted her back to sit beside her sister. As he moved, he fought for calm and even breaths.
A sideways glance confirmed what he already knew—her cheeks flamed like the leaves of a scarlet oak. The ring of his boot heels smacking the floor echoed in the complete silence that had fallen over the gathering. Blood still pounding in his ears, he returned to his spot against the wall.
Quaid chuckled and nudged him with an elbow but didn’t say a word.
Just as well. Nicolai’s throat was tight as a glove left out in the rain.
“Well, now.” Mr. Morgan glanced between Nicolai and Miss York before turning toward the benches holding the miners. “Continuing with the details. About these payments…” The rasp of a throat clearing sounded before the mayor continued. “Mr. Andrews mentioned Rigsby’s. Is that where these arrangements took place?”
Hoping his voice wouldn’t come out as a croak, Nicolai lifted his hand. “Mr. Mayor, I can attest to the men who I heard speaking on the matter.”
“All right, Mr. Andrews. You have the floor.” Mr. Morgan crossed his arms and waited.
“Following the show last night, several of us were playing poker, and Mr. Thomas joined our game. I sat at that table with Swenson, Bemeere, Dawson, and Michaels.” He pointed toward the leader, who cut him a stony look. “Clayton and that other dark-haired miner were nowhere in sight at that time.”
“So, you’re saying you overheard Mr. Thomas talk about being a bride broker. Frankly, sirs, I’m struggling to figure out how a conversation like that starts.”
Cinnia turned and gazed at him, her hands clutching the lapels of his jacket.
Even in the dim light, he spotted disappointment in her slumped shoulders and down-turned mouth. She had every right to feel betrayed by her boss, but that sentiment shouldn’t be directed toward him. When all this bride business happened, he hadn’t even met her. Heck, he’d only heard her name once. Just because he’d been intrigued by her from the moment he saw her and was enraptured by her recitation, did the presence of that feeling obligate him? Should he have gone to her wagon at dawn and warned her?
Guilt made his shoulders itch. Yeah, he should have. Or when the unplanned opportunity presented itself for private conversation outside the privy, he could have spoken then. As embarrassing as that conversation might have been, he could have prepared her for what she might face. By the time he was ready to mouth an apology, he saw she’d turned away. Disappointment bit his gut. Again, he was too slow with a respon
se.
“Excuse me, Michael.” Back straight, Prudence sat on the edge of the bench. “Is that the most important point here? If I may speak on behalf of the women, I believe the issue is that they are being accused of owing money or time, but they never willing obligated themselves to that debt.”
“Of course, dear.” Mr. Morgan nodded. “Well said.”
“And, sir?” Dorrie lifted her hand by her head. “If the women were told who had paid for their hour, some of us might have no objections to such a meeting.”
“Dorrie, are you serious?” Cinnia leaned close, but her shocked voice carried throughout the room. Then she hunched her shoulders and slumped in her seat.
“Well, the men picked us out after seeing us from a distance.” Slowly, Dorrie stood, tugging on the belt to her dressing gown. “I say we deserve the same choice. I can see the men’s point about paying for something they didn’t get.”
Cheers broke out from the miners’ side. They looked at each other, grins stretching across their faces.
Mr. Morgan held up his hands and waited for the noise to subside. “Thank you, gentlemen.” He paced a few feet down the aisle, scratching his chin, and then turned. “As I hope everyone will understand, I wish to keep this matter separate from the dealings I have with my employees related to the mine. I’d rather not to be made aware of those who participated in this arrangement at this point. At the same time, I need to know this process will happen with the utmost discretion and respect. Both are qualities I feel my wife, Prudence, possesses.”
He smiled in her direction and glanced between the two groups. “Tomorrow morning, Mrs. Morgan will arrive at the boarding house before the end of the breakfast meal. She’ll be ready to take names of the miners who paid and the female performer who was his particular choice. Then she will relay that information to the women of the performing troupe.”
Nicolai didn’t like a single word of what he was hearing. Although the arrangements sounded fair under the bizarre circumstances, the result could be that Miss York might be occupied by more than one of the men sitting in the benches opposite. Whoever paid for an hour of her time—and he had to believe at least one man had been smart enough to have recognized the intriguing creature that she was—that man would be in the position he could no longer deny he wished to be. Spending uninterrupted time in her company, talking with and getting to know the beauty.
“So, then what?” Mr. Swenson stood. “How will the meetings be conducted? We can’t very well entertain them at Rigsby’s.”
The miners all came to their feet and hollered suggestions.
On the women’s side, they put their heads together and conferred.
At one point, Nicolai spotted Miss York stroking the front of the jacket. He hoped the smooth finish brought her a moment or two of comfort.
“Excuse me, Mr. Morgan.” Nola stood and waited to be acknowledged.
“Yes, miss?” He dipped his chin in her direction.
“The ladies and I have a proposal.” She glanced over her shoulder and received several nods. “Although we haven’t had much opportunity to see the whole town, we did notice the boarding house has benches on the covered porch. They might suit for a meeting that could be conducted in public.”
“A logical choice. And if the weather is too cold, then perhaps inside, immediately following a meal.”
Indiscernible grumbling came from the miners, snatches of which sounded like the space inside the boarding house dining room not being very private.
Nicolai blew out a breath. What did these men think? That they’d get a woman into a room by themselves? The memory of his talk with Miss York this afternoon filtered through his disgruntled thoughts. A very enjoyable ten minutes that he was most interested in figuring a way to duplicate. Maybe under the guise of a rental fee negotiation.
Holding up a hand to capture attention, Nola cleared her throat. “But, the meetings are not to conflict with any scheduled show.”
“Understood.”
Cinnia reached up and tugged on her sister’s arm.
Nola bent down and waited while Dorrie and Cinnia took turns whispering instructions.
“Oh, yes, I’m reminded about making this statement.” Nola clasped her hands at her waist. “Please remember, gentlemen, that none of the women within the troupe traveled to Morgan’s Crossing with the idea of looking for a husband. We are dedicated performers who came to share our craft with a willing audience.”
Quaid leaned his head sideways. “Miss Nola presents herself well in public, don’t ya think?”
Was that interest Nicolai heard in his new friend’s tone? That might dovetail well with his own plans.
“Well, folks, the hour is getting late.” Mr. Morgan walked the length of the benches and stood next to his wife. “I believe the plan is set.
“Hold on.” Clayton jumped to his feet. “If the arrangement is not agreeable, then what type of recompense is being offered to those of us who put out our money?”
Mrs. Morgan stood and grasped her husband’s elbow.
“As the old saying goes, Mr. Clayton, we will cross that bridge when we come to it. Should the need arise, I have full faith and confidence a satisfactory solution will be forthcoming.” He started escorting his wife down the middle aisle. “Good night, and thank you again to the entertainers.”
No one said a word until the couple left the building.
Nicolai narrowed his eyes and stared across the room. “So you know, Quaid, I’m not moving from this spot until those miners clear out.”
“Agreed. A couple of those fellows don’t look to be the most respectable of men, if you know what I mean?” He patted a hand on the empty side of the bench. “Sitting here might show your willingness to outwait them.”
“I like right where I am.” While standing, he had an unobstructed view of the room.
Then, like a starting gun had been shot, people started moving. The male performers moved the empty benches back into the audience formation. The miners stood, collected their lanterns, and slowly walked to the door, glancing over their shoulders.
Clayton glared right back at Nicolai.
Six feet away, Miss York turned on the bench and glanced his way.
For a moment, he thought she might speak, but then watched her heave a sigh. Ah, she must be wondering if the lighting has changed enough for her to move. Nicolai bit back a chuckle and walked forward, stopping a foot or so to her right. “Miss York, may I escort you back to your wagon?”
Her lips pinched, and then she let out a laugh. “I guess you will need to, Mr. Andrews, since I’m holding your jacket hostage.”
He glanced around and, even though the majority of the lanterns were gone, he noted that some of the performers had already exited by the back door. From the corner of his eye, he saw Quaid push himself to a stand when the other Miss York approached.
The strawberry-blonde acrobat waited in the stage area, the light from the punched tin lantern she held glowing in star shapes.
“Ready, Cinnia?” Nola held the metal box in her hands.
Cinnia waved a hand before gripping the jacket again. “Nola, Mr. Andrews has offered to escort me, um, us back to the wagon.”
Quaid approached. “We both will.” He raised his uninjured hand and beckoned. “Come, miss, and join us for an evening stroll.”
Nicolai bit back a scoff. Evening stroll, is that what a walk of less than a fifty steps was called? “Miss York, if you stand, Quaid and I will set this last bench in line.”
The women moved to the front of the hall and stood together.
Nicolai blew out two remaining oil lamps and then walked toward the waiting group. The sight the poetess presented, holding a candle lantern and wearing the jacket he’d made with his hands, etched itself on his mind. If nothing more happened between them, he would remember the night when an auburn-haired beauty waited, her light shining in the darkness. CTON. He had to stop thinking like this. His Russian ancestry was driving him to ma
ke things darker than they actually were.
No one spoke as they crossed the threshold and descended to the street.
Nicolai hunched his shoulders against the cool night air. Because no wagon traffic was in sight, the men moved to the outer edges of the line of women. Above, the sky glittered with a myriad of bright stars. No clouds in sight meant the temperatures would continue to fall.
“Now, sir.” Dorrie leaned forward to look to her left past Nola. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Dorrie Sullivan. And I heard you’re staying with Mr. Andrews.”
“Torin Quaid, ma’am.” Quaid doffed his hat. “Mr. Andrews came to my rescue, both this afternoon with my mustangs and by offering me his hospitality.”
“Rescue?” Nola looked to her left. “That part was not mentioned.”
“I didn’t?” He laughed. “Then you’ll need to come to Nic’s shop, and I’ll regale you with the tale over a cup of coffee.” He leaned back. “All right if I invite them in?”
Nicolai wondered what Quaid’s response would be if he refused. “So long as guests bring their own chairs and mugs.” He jammed his hands in his pockets, cringing at what his very proper English mother would think about that statement. Of course, she’d never lived in the Spartan conditions in which her sons now found themselves. Even if the lack of amenities had never been an issue for him in the past.
“We can even bring choices of teas.” Dorrie skipped ahead a few feet and then turned to walk backward, arms out to her sides. “We raided Mr. Thomas’s wagon this morning.”
“Dorrie, keep your voice down.” Cinnia glanced toward the group of wagons. She turned to him and shrugged. “We figured he wouldn’t need his fancy items.”
Nicolai saw they’d reached the last two wagons and debated about what the next move was. Do I wait for her here, or go ahead to my place? Waiting felt too much like what a courting beau would do. “I’ll walk ahead, stoke the fire, and put on the kettle. Please walk right in as soon as you arrive.”
“Seems, Mr. Andrews, you have come to several people’s rescue today.” Cinnia stopped, slipped out of his jacket, and held it out. “Thank you for the jacket.” She flashed him a tentative smile before turning and hurrying between the wagons, the faint white of her gown disappearing in the darkness.
Montana Sky_Laced By Love Page 10
