Montana Sky_Laced By Love

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

  “Sure.” He shrugged as he closed the cupboard door.

  “Cinnia,” Nola whispered and waved her over.

  Cinnia took the three steps needed to join her sister at the stove.

  “Go into the shop. I don’t want Dorrie getting another minute of flirting practice.”

  “No.” The word felt so good in her mouth. For added effect, she crossed her arms over her chest and arched an eyebrow, daring her sister to argue.

  “Whyever not?” Nola jerked back her head and slapped a hand on her hip.

  “If you’re so worried, you go out there. I can brew the tea.” Cinnia moved back to where she’d been at the sink, leaned a hip against it, and watched her sister stomp into the other room. “It actually works.”

  “What works?”

  She jumped and turned toward Nic. “Did I say that aloud?”

  “I heard it, so you must have.”

  How to explain this without sounding like the pathetic tag-a-long she’d been? “For lots of years, Nola has been in charge.” She pushed a straggling strand off her cheek. “Oh, you don’t want to hear my life history. Suffice to say, this morning I told her “no” for the first time.”

  “An important step everyone has to take.”

  “Well, that’s when I decided not to leave this town like she wants to. And you know the rest, because I told you about my dressmaking business.”

  He nodded and angled his body so he faced her. “About that—”

  The rumbling boiling changed to a shrill whistle.

  Will we ever finish this very important conversation? She dashed across the floor, slid her hand into the glove like she’d seen him do, and moved the kettle to the other burner. The noise continued.

  “Has to go onto the pad.” He pointed to the counter then picked up the metal cup from the stack in the sink and wiped off the bottom with a dishrag. “Let me.”

  Cinnia stood back and viewed his efficient moves, using a pestle to crush the dried bark in a mortar then setting the tea to steep.

  Next, he opened a lower cupboard and pulled out a metal tub that he held near the sink and then turned to glance at her. “The dishes?”

  “Oh.” She lifted them and watched as he fit the tub inside the metal sink. When she leaned to set them back, she stopped at the quick lifting of his hand. I had no trouble understanding that gesture. Maybe it’s a woman thing.

  He reached into a wooden box under the counter and pulled out a small metal scoop with a powdery substance. With a flick of his wrist, he scattered the flakes then stretched to the side to grab the kettle and empty water into the tub. While he poured, he lifted and lowered the kettle, but not enough to make the hot water splash.

  Right before her eyes, Cinnia saw bubbles form as the steamy water hit the tub. Just like magic. “How did you do that?” She moved and looked closer to be sure that’s what was happening. “What is that powder?”

  “Uh, soap plant. Something I picked up on my travels.” He set down the kettle then grabbed a quart jar from where it sat on the counter and poured in cool water. “Go ahead and put them in. Temperature’s probably too hot for you. I’ll wash up.”

  “I don’t mind. Besides, I want to see how this stuff cleans.” She lowered the stack and winced. He’s right about the temperature. Rubbing her fingers together revealed a slick, slippery texture. Sure enough, the water had the same quality as when she cut slivers from their lye bar. “Maybe we’ll soak them for a few minutes.” Taking a deep breath, she turned and looked him straight in the eye. “Besides, we need to finish our conversation about the shop. So far, I count three interruptions.”

  “Impatient, are you?” A corner of his mouth quirked upward.

  “Only when I really want something.”

  His eyes flared, and then his gaze dipped to her mouth and flicked back to her eyes. “Well, Miss York, I am prepared to offer you a deal that should fit what I suspect is a very limited budget.”

  “That’s an understatement.” His words sounded very encouraging. She clasped her hands together to stop them from shaking.

  “I’m willing to let you move into the shop for the first month for an exchange of services—”

  Heat flamed in her cheeks. “What? This sounds like the arrangement Mr. Thomas made.”

  Shaking his head, he held up a single finger. “You didn’t let me finish.”

  “Sorry.” She rolled her hand in front of her body, hoping he’d just say the number. Although, “exchange of services” didn’t sound like a dollar figure was attached.

  “I have a bad habit of burning soldering holes in my shirts.” He shrugged. “Occupational hazard.”

  “Your proposal is an exchange of mending for rent?” She tilted her head. Based on the time she knew was involved with mending, she wanted to argue. The offer seemed too one-sided. “How many shirts have you ruined? That doesn’t sound like a fair exchange.”

  “Quite a few. But I thought that might be your response, so I have a second part to the offer. I couldn’t help noticing you coveting my stove there.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Toss in a pot of stew and a loaf a bread each week, and I believe we can strike a deal.”

  “Really?” Sewing and cooking—two of her favorite activities. After only a moment’s hesitation, she extended her hand. “Mr. Andrews, we have a bargain.”

  ****

  Green fire, emerald heated with dots of citrine, burned in Cinnia’s eyes as she squeezed and shook on the rental deal. The tingles along his palm were almost the same as when she’d rubbed her fingers on his arm. Warm, exciting, hinting at the magiya between a man and a woman.

  The fact he’d been the one to put the sparkle in her look didn’t go unnoticed. For only a moment, he reveled in that thought. Until the echoes of his father’s edict rang through his head and fought to temper his reaction. Reluctantly, he pulled back his hand and rubbed the palm against his denims. “I’d heard people in your position often used barter.” Seeing her stance stiffen, he hastened to add. “When I’m new in a town, I’ve used exchange. Lots of time, people aren’t ready to trust a stranger with a big order like a saddle or a harness. But they’ll accept a wallet for a bushel of carrots or a pocket watch holder”—he touched the one on his belt—“for a couple of loaves of bread.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. She glanced at the holder then a blush rose in her cheeks, and she jerked up her gaze. “We’re accustomed to making similar arrangements when we’ve had to.” A slim hand waved at the sink. “We should get these washed up.”

  Probably, he shouldn’t have mentioned the watch holder. No denying, though, how much he enjoyed seeing the rosy color rise in her creamy skin. Nic rolled up his sleeves and plunged his hands into the water.

  “Where will I find the drying towels?”

  “That cupboard on the far wall. Above where the table usually sits.”

  She moved across the space and collected two towels, tucking one at her waist with her elbow. “I was thinking this afternoon about all that I’d need to get started.” The other one she spread and covered the corner of the counter. She picked up the mug he extended. “Now that we’re business partners, is it all right if I ask you for advice? Maybe advice is the wrong word.” She set the dry mug on the towel and held out her hand for another.

  He marveled at how she didn’t seem to be aware that she was even drying dishes as she talked.

  “Can I confide in you, Nic?”

  “Sure, partner.” He grinned but didn’t get a response. Her gaze had that faraway look like she’d had during Torin’s story.

  For the span of several seconds, she nibbled on her bottom lip. “I think I scared myself a bit.”

  He couldn’t drag away his gaze from her subtle movement that moistened and plumped her lip. When the word ‘scared’ finally registered, he tensed. When? And who’s responsible? “Tell me how and who.” Could he help the fact his words rasped out?

  Blinking, she looked at him then frowned. “What do you mea
n by who?”

  “You said you were scared. I’m just asking by whom.”

  “I did, and I was.” Then her eyes shot wide, and she glanced over her shoulder. Leaning close, she whispered, “Oh, but please don’t tell Nola. I don’t want her to get a hint that I feel anything but total confidence in the shop’s success. Otherwise, she’ll haul me off to Denver or the next big town with a theater company that might have spaces for our acts.”

  No one tracking him for the tanning formula had bothered her. A relieved breath escaped before he went back to running the dish rag over the next plate. Let her talk, and you’ll figure out the meaning when she stops.

  “What I meant was I got to thinking about all the things I need to set up even the most basic of work areas. A long table, shelves, a real chair, pegs on the wall for displaying finished garments. I thought about in front of the windows, but there’s the sun-fading problem.” She slumped against the counter and ran the towel around the inside of a bowl again and again. “Making the list clued me in to how much I don’t have. Your shop is my inspiration. I saw how well laid out yours is, and that’s my eventual goal. But, for now”— she flashed a grin—“I have my hands and my tools and my energy.”

  He handed her the last dish and shook the suds off his hands. “Those will serve you well, I’m sure.” Pressing his hands against the towel on the counter removed most of the water. “I’ve surprised myself with how I can produce quality products in the most basic environment. Tomorrow, you’ll unpack whatever items you have available into the shop. If you like, I’ll help you arrange them to the best benefit.”

  “Oh, Nic, you’d do that?” Grinning, she bounced on her toes. “I know getting opinions from someone who has done this will help me. I have so many ideas for the types of garments I want to sew to build a ready-made stock. Those will all have to wait until I can produce an income and prove to Nola my decision is a sound one.”

  Ah, siblings. A similar feeling he’d had in dealings with his two older brothers while they all lived under the same roof.

  “With any luck, I should be ready to work on your first shirt in the afternoon.”

  Her enthusiasm was catching. He gathered the women’s clean mugs and tilted his head toward the doorway. “Ready to make your big announcement?”

  Cinnia smoothed a hand down the front of her blouse.

  A move that he couldn’t help but track. In the next moment, he was thinking himself a fool because the type of relationship he wished to build with Cinnia couldn’t happen right now. Not when people were out to get his family’s secret and didn’t care what methods they’d use. The stolen cache of hides from the San Francisco store were proof.

  Shaking his head, he looked anywhere but at her retreating figure. An impossible task. He walked behind her, put down the mugs, and glanced at the three sitting around the table. Quaid looked about done in, but he was still awake.

  “I have an announcement.” Cinna waited until she had everyone’s attention before glancing his way.

  Having her look to him for reassurance just about wiped out all his resolution not to get involved. He nodded and gestured toward the waiting trio.

  She flashed a wide smile. “Nic and I have come to an agreement on the rent. I’ll be opening my dressmaking business in the shop next door, starting tomorrow.” She waved a hand toward the shared wall of the shops. “Of course, it will—”

  “Tomorrow?” Nola scooted back her stool and crossed both arms over her middle. “That’s so soon.”

  Nic winced at the censuring tone of the woman’s voice and cut his gaze to Cinnia, who had lost her triumphant smile.

  “Have you forgotten?” Dorrie jumped up and moved both hands in a sweeping gesture. “What about the whole miners and private meeting issue hanging over our heads? We can’t act like that meeting isn’t going to happen.”

  A topic he would like to forget. Nic rubbed a hand over his jaw, feeling the prickles of a day’s growth of stubble.

  “I don’t plan to let that problem stop me.” Cinnia tapped her finger on her chin. “Hey, maybe the meeting can happen in my shop.”

  Private time between Cinnia and one of the men he’d stared down an hour earlier? Nic narrowed his gaze. Not exactly why he’d agreed to rent her the place.

  “And, we have to plan another show.” Nola shook her finger in Cinnia’s direction.

  Quaid leaned his good elbow on the table. “Why are you so upset, Dorrie? This is a single hour out of your day. You meet the guy, sit and talk, and then walk away.”

  Dorrie lifted herself on tip-toes and then lowered to a flat stance and repeated before she answered. “Well, when you say it like that…”

  Torin shook his head and chuckled. “I saw your act, and what you do must take lots of practice. That shop next door is long, like this one.” He swung his good arm, pointing out the distance from front to the back. “And there’s a nice big window in the front. I bet tickets for the opportunity to watch you rehearse would sell like wildfire.”

  Silence fell over the group.

  Nic winced. His new friend would have to drag himself out of the hole he’d just dug.

  Nola sniffed and pulled her wrap from the back of her chair. “We appreciate the impromptu party, Nic.”

  “Yes, thank you, Nic.” Dorrie tossed her shawl over her shoulders and grabbed her mug then crossed to the door.

  Cinnia flashed him a grin, grabbed her belongings, and the much-emptier basket before meeting up with Dorrie.

  A stiff-backed Nola brought up the rear. “I, for one, am chalking up the offensiveness of your comment to your injury and the late hour. Good night, Torin Quaid.”

  The door closed with a slam that rattled the front window.

  Quaid stood and turned toward the front of the shop, wide-eyed and scratching his head. “Did they go away mad?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The next morning, Cinnia set down her rush and then sectioned her hair into three strands for plating. “Do either of you remember if we’ve ever used a small table as a prop before?” As the women prepared for the day, they’d been discussing items in the equipment wagon that might be useful for her dressmaker’s shop.

  Dorrie buttoned the front of her pale pink blouse. “You and Floyd are the ones with the props that change depending on your acts. Nola and I use the same equipment with the dogs. Oh, and the backdrops change for all the musical numbers.”

  Nola rummaged in her clothes cupboard and pulled out a pair of stockings. “You know, I was wondering the other day if we could get Gigi to ride a miniature bicycle. I saw that in Samuel Trewson’s act last year, and the crowd loved it.”

  She’s still planning acts? Cinnia forced a smile, because she really didn’t want to start an argument. “The floor of the shop will be perfect for practicing. Nice and flat. Don’t you agree, Dorrie?”

  Eyes wide, Dorrie glanced between the two. “I volunteer to walk the dogs. One of you can start the water for coffee.” She turned and fussed with the leashes.

  Cinnia glanced at her sister, but Nola focused only on the stockings, and then on her shoes. She looked into the metal pail on the counter and saw only a small amount of water remained. “I’ll locate the well. Nic said it was by the boarding house, right, Nola?”

  “I think so.”She looked up, her mouth drawn tight. “I know what I promised, but the idea of staying will take me a bit of time to get used to.”

  Emotion grabbed her throat, and Cinnia swallowed hard. “I understand. You know how much I appreciate your agreement, right?”

  Nola nodded.

  The dogs yapped and danced around as Dorrie clipped on their leashes. “Come on, you princesses of the stage. Let’s go for our walk.” The lock clicked, and Dorrie pushed open the door “Uh, oh.”

  “What’s wrong?” Nola dashed forward. “Is one hurt?”

  Cinnia reached for the last hairpin to anchor her plait into a circle at the back of her head.

  “Good, you’re up. Nola, we
need to talk.”

  The tone of Wallace’s voice was what made Cinnia hurry to the door. The rest of the troupe sat around the campfire, even Helen. At seven o’clock? This is serious. She slipped her plaid cape over her shoulders and grabbed her mug before tapping down the steps to join the group.

  Arney lifted the coffeepot in her direction.

  Cinnia nodded and held out her cup.

  Wallace stood with hands jammed on his hips. “I’ve been elected the spokesperson of the group.”

  “There’s been an election?” Nola raised an eyebrow. “When did this happen?”

  Cinnia heard the hurt tone in her sister’s voice. Just because Cinnia’d been willing to follow everything Nola said for the past decade didn’t mean these others would.

  “Last night, while you were busy carrying on over at the saddlerr’s place. The rest of us who were here around the campfire decided to leave for Denver.” He glanced around toward the others. “We want our share of last night’s admission fees.”

  This is it. The real test of Nola’s promise. Would she honor it, or would the pull of the Denver stage lights be too strong? Cinnia sipped her coffee and grimaced, wishing she dared to run back into the wagon for a pinch or two of sugar. But, she didn’t want to miss a single word of this discussion.

  “Sure, I understand needing to divvy up after each night. We don’t want any repeats of the first night, right?”

  Cinnia knew a fake smile when she saw one, and she bet everyone else did, too.

  Nola swept an arm in the direction of the meeting hall. “What about the miners’ request?”

  Wallace ducked his head for a second before he spoke. “That agreement can’t possibly affect us, because Helen wasn’t in contention for a potential meeting.”

  Helen stood and wrapped her full-length velvet cape around her shoulders. “I’m sure you noticed, I didn’t sit with your group last night.”