Caught in the Middle (15 page)

“I did want to talk to Molly . . . and that was Bailey, wasn’t it?”

Nick held out his arms to Sammy, who, with a lunge, fell
against his chest. “That’s a good boy. Maybe Uncle Nick needs to come visit more often. You’d be glad to see me, wouldn’t you?”

Anne followed him toward the hotel, steps only dragging a bit. “Uncle Nick? When did that start?”

“My nephew is here, and I like the sound of it.”

She shook her head. Nick smiled. Anne could grouse all she wanted. She was there and she was dressed respectfully. He wouldn’t expect much more from her. Incremental change, gradually increasing the grade—that’s how trains got from swamp to mountaintop. You couldn’t go steep, especially carrying a load as big as the one Anne toted.

Nick ushered Anne to a private alcove in the hotel lobby and was met by Molly, who immediately embraced the reluctant runaway. “Anne, how beautiful you look. Buffalo hunting has been kind to you.”

Bailey nodded. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Tillerton. Been killing any rabbits lately?”

Anne’s brow lowered with mock ire. “No, I haven’t. Been confessing any fool nonsense in front of the whole church?”

Bailey threw back his head and laughed. “Should’ve known you’d set me straight. Molly sees that I behave myself, so no more fool nonsense. Did she ever tell you how you scared her with those rabbits you left on the porch?”

Nick set Sammy next to Carter, who was tugging at the fringe of the rug, eager to know every memory they shared. “I didn’t hear about that.”

“It was when Molly was living at the parsonage. She found dead rabbits on the front porch and thought someone was making a threat.”

Anne put a hand to her hip. “Really, Molly? They were a gift.”

Molly fiddled with her earbob. “It does seem silly, but it never occurred to me that dead animals could be a friendly gesture. I didn’t have the first idea what to do with them. But how did you come to be in Garber? Nick says you were hunting buffalo in Indian Territory.”

A wildness clung to Anne—even in a dress —delicate but untamed. She was a prairie flower that might wither the moment it was put in a vase. Her time indoors had lightened her naturally fair complexion, and the dark gown contrasted, making her skin glow. Had Nick not seen her shooting the toe out of a gunman’s boot, he would’ve suspected her of concocting her hunting stories.

Nick directed her to a chair. Anne glanced nervously around the room as they took seats. “I came here to haul our cook back to Pushmataha, but she gave me the slip. Left her little boy behind, too. Then we found out that his father’s dead and the boy has no one. Not where I expected to be.”

Bailey’s eyes held his for a long moment. Nick felt the weight of responsibility that Bailey was bestowing on him. Yes, back in Prairie Lea you didn’t allow womenfolk to face challenges alone. He drew in a long breath. She was his responsibility. Even if she didn’t have any kin to hold him accountable, his own family would. They were all the family she had left.

His family and Sammy.

Molly leaned forward to smile at Sammy. “Happy boy. It’s hard to believe he’ll never know his family.”

“But he’ll know me, and I can keep him safe as well as anyone.” Anne crossed her arms.

Nick felt the shock of surprise. Where was her gun? No doubt she had one. Her skirt was draped too tightly over her
hips for a holster under there. Probably had one hidden in her boot, but how quickly could she get to it? Knowing her . . .

Bailey cleared his throat and Nick realized that he’d been caught staring. Anne blushed, but she didn’t run this time. She ducked her head to fuss with Sammy.

“Let me tell you about my current projects with the railroad,” Nick diverted. If there was anything that Molly liked more than fashion, it was industry. She wouldn’t leave town until she had a chance to look over all his paper work, which was fine with him. She had a good eye for business, as her and Bailey’s successful handling of his father’s sawmill proved.

By the time he’d answered all her questions, Anne and Bailey had about exhausted themselves entertaining the two young ruffians.

“It’s almost time to go to the Stanfords’.” Nick stood.

“Can we wait a little longer?” Anne asked. “Mr. and Mrs. Puckett were going to meet us and take Sammy home. He’ll be ready for bed soon.”

Before Nick could give his consent, Molly spoke up. “Do you think she’d mind watching Carter, too? He spent two days on a train. I hate to hold him still all evening.”

Anne bit her lip, but Nick could answer with confidence. “The Pucketts will be thrilled. Their grandchildren don’t live close—a lament I hear frequently.”

Molly giggled. “Well, Mother and Father don’t have that complaint. They watch Eva and Carter for a couple of hours every day while I go to the mill to help Bailey. And they begged for me to let Eva stay with them. You should see her, Nick. So much energy. I’m glad we didn’t have to wrestle her the whole trip. One was enough.”

But Anne planned to keep the boy and provide everything
he needed—without a husband’s assistance. She was capable, but at what cost? How many daily sacrifices would she have to make to meet his needs?

“We have to walk to the Stanfords’?” Molly asked. “Where do you keep your buggy?”

Anne perked up. “Nick’s buggy? He doesn’t have one.”

Bailey snorted. “Crazy railroad man. Not having a horse is like walking around without kneecaps. I suppose it’s possible, but what an inconvenience.”

“You were afoot after you stopped cowboying,” Molly said. “Had to borrow Father’s surrey quite often.”

Bailey’s neck turned red, but he grinned just the same.

Anne’s heart lightened. Molly and Bailey’s presence worked like a tonic. Now certain that Sammy would be in her future, Anne could look ahead and wonder—would her life ever assume this easy normalcy? Would she ever be as comfortable around a man as Molly was with her husband?

“At least we are able to walk through a fashionable district,” Molly said. “I’m noting the new paneled friezes on the architecture.”

“Paneled friezes, yes. Very nice.” Bailey patted her hand. “I’ll be sure to have Mr. Mohle add some as soon as we get home.”

“Listen to you, Bailey,” Nick said. “Are you really going to make more changes to your house? You just built it.”

“Naw. Once she sees what they cost, she’ll decide against it. I’m just playing along.” He winked at Anne.

Her eyes widened. He was Molly’s husband—a church-going, God-fearing man. Then she caught herself. He hadn’t meant any harm. Just a friend being friendly.

As Molly and Nicholas discussed the rising price of raw timber, Bailey nudged her. “So how do you like working for Nick?”

“He can act pretty full of himself, but he treats me fair.”

Bailey grinned. “Sounds like an accurate assessment.”

She studied the manicured path as they walked toward the house on the corner lot. Bailey was teasing her. She hadn’t said anything wrong, had she? Well, if Nicholas hadn’t sent her packing after one of their many arguments, he surely wouldn’t over that statement.

The nearer they came to their destination, the more Anne’s confidence vanished. She propelled herself up the brick footpath like a sailor walking the plank, then hid in their small ensemble and waited for their ringing entreaty to be answered—hoping vainly that Ophelia Stanford would let her be.

Might as well hope that Sunday would come three times a week.

From the moment they were escorted into the parlor, Mrs. Stanford focused the bulk of her attention on Anne. The woman studied her like a tracker studied scat. Ophelia must have already made up her mind to be offended by Anne’s appearance, but it seemed she couldn’t decide why. Anne took her seat, her palms sweating. She sat with back straight and both feet on the floor, knees together. She wouldn’t make any mistakes if she didn’t open her mouth. Besides, between her three companions, there was no silence that needed to be filled.

Molly and Nicholas were both talkers and obviously missed each other’s company. Molly did her best to draw Mrs. Stanford into the conversation, which was no easy task when she was dead set on picking Anne apart from across the room.
When Mr. Stanford made his appearance, Anne nearly fled. His eyes lingered like a fly on raw meat.

“Mrs. Tillerton, is it? You look familiar. You weren’t working at the livery stable a few weeks ago, were you?”

Anne shot a frightened glance toward Nick. Nick nodded calmly, assuring her she had nothing to fear.

“Yes, sir, but I was at the Velvet Palace before that.”

“You worked at the Velvet Palace?” Ophelia stood. Her skirt twitched like the tail of a mountain lion. “Honestly, Ian, this has gone on long enough. I will not sit across the table from a fancy lady.”

“I did
not
work there,” Anne protested. “I only ate there while trying to find lodging, but I thought Mr. Stanford’s recollection might be of seeing me there as he was going up the stairs.”

Ophelia closed her mouth and dropped to her chair. “I’m . . . I’m speechless.”

“Oh, stop with your righteous outrage.” Ian pulled a cigar from his pocket and jammed it between his teeth. “Now you have one more misdeed to harangue me over. Add another expensive bauble to your demands.”

The dinner bell chimed and Anne sprang to her feet. Mrs. Stanford deliberately refused to budge until everyone had an opportunity to notice who alone had jumped the gun.

“Mrs. Garner, I believe it’s my privilege to escort you to supper.” Mr. Stanford rose to offer his arm to Molly.

Molly’s cheerfulness rang false. “My, we are dining in high style tonight, aren’t we?”

Without waiting for direction, Bailey took Mrs. Stanford’s arm and nearly pulled it off in his eagerness to see what fine food would be served.

Nicholas offered his arm to Anne and paused long enough for the room to empty.

“I’ve ruined everything,” she said.

“You didn’t create the problems that exist between the two of them. Forget about it and try to enjoy yourself. I’m looking forward to dining with a beautiful woman at my side.”

She must have tensed, for he laid his hand over hers. “Don’t be afraid. Just because you put on a skirt doesn’t turn me into a crazed, violent maniac.”

His eyes were kind, reassuring, and even though she could acknowledge the truth of his words, they still made her skin crawl in remembrance of the way Ian had looked at her. She squeezed Nick’s arm. At least he hadn’t believed Ophelia’s accusation about her employment.

They entered the dining room last, and Nicholas dragged her to her seat. Entering a room before you had a chance to note every portal and window was foolhardy, but they weren’t waiting for her to take a full account of the elongated chamber. Nicholas intervened awkwardly with the chair before Anne could pull it out for herself, but how was she supposed to know? She plopped into her chair. Why couldn’t she get along as well as Molly?

So for the next half hour she mimicked Molly religiously. Napkin on her lap. Her own utensils didn’t touch the food until it was on her plate. Her fork didn’t spear the mutton. Her knife didn’t cut the butter. When she wasn’t using the knife, it rested on her plate. She wished Molly would eat more green beans. They smelled good, but Anne was afraid to venture out on her own.

Molly pinned her meat with her fork rotated toward herself. Then with her knife in her right hand . . .

From the corner of her eye, Anne saw movement. A man’s arm reached around her face, close enough he could break her neck with one quick jerk. Anne dropped her fork and grasped him by the wrist. Throwing her body forward she was able to catch him off balance. He fell against her back, and before he could move she had her dinner knife against his exposed neck.

Horrified gasps erupted at the attack. So were his actions planned all along, or had Ophelia given the signal after Anne’s embarrassing exposure of Mr. Stanford’s activities?

“Please, ma’am. I was just reaching for your glass. Please . . . the knife.” The man’s eyes bulged. A vein in his temple throbbed.

“Release him at once!” Mrs. Stanford stood, her outraged face causing Anne to wonder if she wasn’t the biggest threat at the table.

Nick’s voice floated smoothly beneath the commotion. “He’s the butler, Anne. You can let him go.”

With effort, Anne released her hold. She watched as he took her glass with shaking hands and refilled it with tea. From the hacking noise across the table, she summarized that Bailey had choked. His wheezing and coughing were laced with laughter while Molly pounded on his back. Only Nicholas remained unfazed, calmly cutting another bite of mutton.

“Sit down, Ophelia.” Mr. Stanford chewed on his mutton. “Theo isn’t hurt. This’ll teach him not to go sneaking around without announcing himself.”

Anne’s glass was returned, although Theo took pains not to lean over her again.

“I’m surprised at you, Nicholas,” Mrs. Stanford said. “You didn’t make a move to protect an innocent man from this Amazon.”

Anne placed her hands in her lap. She wouldn’t eat another bite of food provided by this woman.

“I know it’s no use. If Mrs. Tillerton wanted to do harm to Theo, I couldn’t stop her. You’ll remember she saved my life on that train—and those weren’t unarmed serving staff she went up against, either.” He chewed and washed his food down with a drink. “She’s a remarkable woman.”