Lisa Plumley (15 page)

Well, that philosophy explained a great deal about Tobe’s initial appearance. He’d been trying hard to appear—and sound and
seem
—as aggressive and streetwise as possible...probably with the hope of feeling less vulnerable than he was. At that insight, Violet felt a fresh sob well inside her.

“I...I think I might have seen your coat in my father’s office at the church,” she blurted, searching her pockets for a handkerchief to staunch her tears. “I’ll see if I can find it.”

“Okay.” Tobe nudged her as she passed by him. He held out his hand, offering her a handkerchief. “You lookin’ for this?”

“Oh!” Surprised and grateful, Violet nodded. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothin’.” The boy went back to his breakfast, his childish equanimity apparently restored. “Cade told me once that a good man always helps ladies in need.” He grinned. “In your case, I reckon a whole lotta bawlin’ counts as bein’ in need.”

His newfound sassiness startled her. Even after all this, Tobe was teasing her? Then Violet realized the truth: just as Cade had done, Tobe had learned to counter misery with charm...to bury despair beneath a grin and a quip.

Her heart ached for them both. She’d been fortunate in all aspects of her life, save the niggling matter of her appearance—which she’d come to terms with anyway. But Tobe and Cade had been stuck beneath an unlucky star for a while now. She’d been blessed with love and support, both before her mother’s passing and afterward, when the whole of Morrow Creek had come forward to help Papa raise her. Tobe and Cade had been forsaken.

No wonder they both seemed so hard edged sometimes. It likely took all their strength just to keep moving forward.

Determinedly, Violet cleared her throat. “I’ll just collect that runaway overcoat of yours from next door. I’ll be back lickety-split.”

Her reward was a brief laugh from Tobe. “‘Runaway overcoat.’ That’s a hoot, Miss Benson.” He pointed his spoon at her. “If you keep up with them jokes, I reckon there might be hope for you yet.”

Chapter Ten

B
ustling with resolve and in a hurry to get to Cade for their usual morning rendezvous—after she’d safely seen Tobe to the schoolhouse for his lessons—Violet opened the church doors.

She hastened inside, scarcely pausing to enjoy the calm and orderly atmosphere that greeted her. In the mornings, the church was always empty. The rows of pews stood polished and ready; the stained-glass windows let in just enough autumnal light to give the whole place a cozy and heartening glow.

Inhaling the tart scent of lemony polish, feeling comforted by the memory of the innumerable sermons she’d heard inside these walls, Violet rushed forward. Her woolen coat rustled, releasing the frosty air it had captured outdoors and reminding her that she’d come here to fetch Tobe’s overcoat. She had to find it soon or else they would be tardy to the schoolhouse.

She didn’t want that. That would mean that Violet might arrive at the Lorndorff Hotel too late to see Cade. Today was his apprenticeship at Owen Cooper’s flourishing livery stable, and although taciturn Mr. Cooper had agreed to train Cade readily enough, he didn’t seem the sort of man to tolerate tardiness. Violet didn’t want to push his good nature too far.

With swiftness utmost in her mind, she scanned the pews. She expected to find Tobe’s overcoat in her father’s office behind the chancel, but since she was passing this way anyway....

A man knelt in the front pew, his head bowed in prayer.

Startled by the sight of him, Violet changed direction.

Rather than charge down the center passageway as she otherwise would have, she edged toward the outer aisle instead, hoping to avoid disturbing the man. She wished she’d used the exterior door to Papa’s office, but now it was too late. Backtracking might prove even more disruptive, she reasoned, than moving stealthily toward the front of the church.

Headed in that direction, Violet glanced again at the praying man. She was passing quite near to him now. She wondered if she should offer to help him or to bring the reverend out to speak with him. Sometimes congregants needed guidance.

Trying to decide, she gave the stranger a more thorough inspection. She didn’t recognize him, so he wasn’t a regular churchgoer. All the same, there was something familiar about him. Had she seen him at the Territorial Benevolent Association Grand Fair? For some reason, the notion seemed right to her.

As Violet reached the alcove near the office, the stranger stood. He moved slowly, as though burdened, and she couldn’t help wondering why he hadn’t sought out the minister. Sometimes a bit of counseling eased even the heaviest of burdens. This man, who appeared approximately her father’s age, definitely seemed to be carrying more than the usual allotment of troubles.

She paused. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but...can I help you?”

The man’s gaze met hers. He looked desolate, almost haunted, and more alone than anyone she’d met. Violet recalled too late—and possibly to her detriment—that some men could not be saved by prayer or helpful intervention. Some men were...lost.

She wished she’d summoned Papa. Or even Sheriff Caffey.

The stranger shook his head, silently refusing her offer of assistance. Respectfully, he held his dark, expensive-looking hat in his hands—hands that appeared, to Violet’s eyes, to be unusual in some way. But she couldn’t untangle how.

“No, young lady,” he said in a low voice, “I don’t think you can help me. But if you don’t mind, I might stay awhile.”

“Please do! I’ll try not to disturb you again. It’s just that there’s usually no one here at this hour. I didn’t think—”

He held up his hand. Again, some unusual quality about it nagged at Violet’s memory. She still couldn’t identify it.

“I’m the one who should apologize to you.” He offered a brief, surprisingly chivalrous bow. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

Where
had she seen him before? Violet wondered afresh. The angle of his shoulders, broad but hunched, seemed strangely familiar to her. So did his striking appearance. The gray in his hair and the lines at his temples only complemented his natural world-weary charm. He wore it like a fine suit of clothes.

Which wasn’t to say she felt at ease with him. She did not.

“Have we...met?” Unable to help herself, Violet scrutinized him more closely. “Perhaps at some event in town or at church?”

He shook his head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a place like this.” As though dumbfounded to find himself there even then, he gazed in wonder at the pews. “The moment I stepped inside, I half expected the whole caboodle to go up in flames.”

Violet gave a discomfited laugh. A sensible woman would have fled right then. After all, the stranger had practically confessed to being a bad man. But it wasn’t kind to bolt in midconversation. So Violet settled for doing the next best thing. She offered the man a wave and a conversational dodge.

“All right, then. Well, please stay as long as you need.”

“I’m not sure the church will be standing long enough for that. I need a lot of time.” The stranger glanced down as though gauging the relative sturdiness of the structure he rested his boots on. “You see, I have a great deal to atone for.”

Caught in midretreat, Violet hesitated nonetheless. The man’s regretful tone awakened something empathetic in her.

“The church will hold strong,” she said softly. “This is a good place to begin making amends. But eventually your time here will run out.” She met his gaze. “After all, no apology is complete unless it’s given to the people who’ve been hurt.”

He lowered his head. “And if they refuse to accept it?”

“You can still try to set things right.”

The man appeared to consider that. “It’s too late for that.” He tightened his mouth. “Fifteen years too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Violet disagreed.

“It is if you’ve done the things I’ve done.”

Again, Violet felt a frisson of unease. Remorse wasn’t always enough to keep people from repeating their sins. Was the stranger confessing his wrongdoings to make her understand them—or to warn her away from him? Uncertainly, she took a step back.

“You can’t know that unless you try,” Violet said. “If you don’t try....” She hesitated, trying to decide between telling him the unvarnished truth and mollifying him—which would have been the most sensible option. Sensibly or not, she chose to speak the truth. “Well, unless you try to make amends, all the remorse in the world is nothing more than self-pity in nicer clothes.” She gestured toward her father’s office. “Shall I fetch the minister for you?”

“I’m not sure. Is he as unforgiving as his daughter is?”

Violet frowned, taken aback by his statement. He couldn’t know she was Reverend Benson’s daughter. They hadn’t even been introduced. Who
was
he? “The church is all about faith and hope,” she told him assuredly. “No one here is unforgiving.”

“I beg to differ.” The man lifted his gaze from his hat. “
You’re
mighty unforgiving, Miss Minister’s Daughter. No wonder I’ve stayed away from ‘right-minded’ folks all these years.”

She couldn’t resist asking the obvious question. “What makes you think I’m the minister’s daughter?”

“It’s not tricky to figure out.” He aimed his chin at her. “You walk like you own this place. You dress like a nun. And you talk like a damnable do-gooder.” He shuddered. “I hate most do-gooders. No offense to present company intended, of course.”

“Of course.” Violet bristled. “How could I take offense when you’ve tried so hard not to give it?”

At that, the man guffawed. His laughter transformed him, turning him from a downtrodden charmer to an irredeemable rogue.

“You’re feisty. I like you, Miss Minister’s Daughter. I can see why—” Shaking his head, the stranger broke off. Wearing a regretful expression, he clapped his black hat over his heart, then gazed directly at her. “It’s only too bad I embarked on this cockeyed salvation mission on my way out of town. Otherwise, we might have gotten to know one another better.”

“We might have,” Violet agreed, halfway to being charmed in spite of herself. “You don’t have to leave Morrow Creek if you don’t want to, you know,” she added in an impulsive rush. “Your destiny is in no one’s hands but your own, Mr....?”

“Oh, no. There’ll be none of that now,” he warned, tsk-tsking with a sparkle in his vibrant blue eyes. “I’ve gone to great pains to keep my name my own business. I won’t surrender it to a chatty, gutsy girl with more courage than compassion.”

“I’m plenty compassionate!”

“All the same, I’m afraid I’m leaving.” With smooth and nimble fingers, the stranger tugged on his hat. He gave another brief bow. “Thank you kindly for the advice.”

“You’re welcome. Will you be taking any of it?”

“Probably not.” Seeming oddly cheered, he shrugged. “But it’s been nice saying something besides ‘ante up’ or ‘how much for a night?’ for a change. So thank you for that, as well.”

Violet considered his first remark, overlooking his obvious allusion to arranging a liaison with a prostitute. She’d lived in the West her whole life. She didn’t find soiled doves or their customers particularly shocking. “You’re a sporting man, then?” she asked with interest. “Are you in town for the private faro tournament? I know someone who’s in the final rounds.”

The man’s eyes gleamed with wariness. He didn’t deny her guesses, though, and Violet was about to ply him with more questions—such as an inquiry about whether he knew Cade, since she was powerfully curious about Cade’s life outside their time together—but at the moment she began to, her father bustled in.

“Oh, you’re here, Violet! That’s good. I was about to run to the house with Tobe’s overcoat—” he lifted the boy’s favorite gargantuan garment in demonstration “—when I heard your voice out here and realized you must have come to collect it yourself.”

Reverend Benson stopped in midstride, his face alight with genial inquisitiveness. Doubtless he’d glimpsed the stranger in their midst. Knowing that her father could likely extract the man’s name where she had failed to, Violet turned to make a helpful introduction. But she was too late. The man was gone.

Even as she looked, the church door swung shut behind him.

“Not a very friendly fellow,” her father observed. “But an early riser and a wearer of very spruce suits! Who was he?”

“I don’t know.” Violet glanced to both sides, unable to believe the man had simply ducked out—entirely unobserved—when her father had arrived. “He seemed in need of guidance, though.”

“I trust you did your best to provide some?”

“I did.” She hesitated. “Did he look familiar to you?”

Her father squinted in thought. He shook his head. “No.”

“He did to me. There was something about him....”

Still trying to reason out what it was, Violet considered the few things she’d learned during their conversation. The stranger was a gambler, a rogue, an admitted sinner...and he possessed smooth palms and uncallused fingers—fingers uniquely suited for reading altered playing cards, detecting loaded dice and excelling at games of chance.

Just like Cade.

What’s more, the stranger had been pointedly secretive about his name, his past
and
his business in Morrow Creek.

Again...just like Cade.

All at once, several pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Starting with something Cade had once told her about Percy Whittier, the man he’d been searching for at the tables...

I want answers from him, that’s all
, Cade had said on the day he’d asked her to be his lucky charm.
I want to know why he ran out on his family back East. They loved him and needed him
.

Shocked, Violet stared at the church door. Could it be...?

“I think I might know who that was!” Determinedly, Violet snatched Tobe’s overcoat from her father. Then she hugged him goodbye. “I’ll see you tonight, Papa! Right now I have to hurry Tobe to school. I have a new project to see to!”

“Don’t you always?” Ever resigned and proud, her father smiled at her. “This time, make it a less dangerous one than trying to reform that gambler, Cade Foster, won’t you? When you took up with him, I endured no end of sleepless nights.”

Guiltily, Violet shifted. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the correct amount,” her father disagreed sternly. “You’re my only daughter. Before your dear mother passed on, she made me promise I would look after you, and that’s all I’m doing.”

“I know.” Affectionately, Violet hugged him again. “But Mama would not have wanted you to tire yourself out with the effort. I worry about you, too, sometimes. After all, I should already be married by now. I should be taking care of
you
—”

“Pshaw,” her father disagreed. “I won’t hear of it.”

“—in your dotage,” she went on with a teasing grin, “not remaining an old maid living dependently in your household forever. I’m a drain on your strength and your income.” Suddenly distraught at the notion, Violet frowned. “I’m sorry, Papa! I never quite thought of it that way before, but it’s true. If I never marry, you’ll be worried about me forever and ever.”

“There now. Don’t concern yourself over things that won’t ever happen.” With a reassuring sound, her father enfolded her in his strong embrace. “You’ll get married someday. Just as soon as you find a man who’s worthy of you. It won’t be easy—”

“Nonsense. There are a multitude of men in Morrow Creek.”

“Exactly so. But not one of them has proven himself.”

“Not many of them have tried,” Violet reminded him, filled with fondness for her overprotective father. “But even if a million men courted me, I doubt you’d approve of a single one.”

“Well, he’d have to be mighty special. That’s true.” With a twinkle in his eye—and a mysterious smile on his lips—her father nodded. “But I could be moved to approve of the
right
man. The man who could make you as happy as you deserve to be.”

Violet wished he meant Cade.
He
made her happy. But Papa didn’t know that. Reminded of her multiple secret meetings with her honor-bound gambler, she felt swamped with guilt.