Love in the Balance (2 page)

Molly’s thoughts whirled. What must everyone think of her? The picnic tables would hum with the story all afternoon. She winced at the laughter floating through the open window and wondered if it was at her expense.

The room grew quieter and quieter until Molly knew everyone had gone, everyone except the man sitting in the section to her left, fourth row from the front.

“And you think I’m going to let you escort me to Lockhart after that?” She kept her eyes on the pulpit.

“No, I don’t. That’s the point.”

She heard Bailey take a deep breath.

“And even if you would, your father wouldn’t. At least that’s what I’m counting on.”

She turned weary eyes to him, surprised to see concern etched on his face. If he wasn’t mad at her, why’d he go and do that? She’d fought for him, defended him, and now he was abandoning her. Her arms still twitched with the longing to knock his head off of his broad shoulders. Without that baby face he wouldn’t get far.

Bailey picked up a paper fan from the back of the pew and slapped it against his hand as he made his way to her. “I know you’re mad, but this is best. I want to make you and your family proud, and it’s gonna take some work before I’m good enough for you.”

“That’s what I don’t understand. Why jilt me now that you’re free to leave the ranch and make a name for yourself?”

“Because I want to do this right,” he said. “I’m starting something new, and I don’t want to mess it up. God can’t bless my efforts when we’re carrying on like we do.”

Molly stood. “Then move to Lockhart. Get a job. You could’ve done that without calling me down in church.”

“I didn’t mention you, but it’s just as well that you jumped in. I need some accountability, because no private decision is strong enough to keep us apart. We act like we’re fixing to get hitched, and we both know it’s going to be a spell before that’s possible.” His eyelashes, so thick Molly coveted them, lowered as he rotated the paper fan in his hands. “I think of you in ways a man shouldn’t think of a woman unless she’s his wife. You’ve got to give me some room.”

Her toes curled. How could he want her so badly, yet be willing to give her up? Inhaling all that trail dust had addled his brain.

“The scales have never been in your favor, Bailey. I thought Father might relent if the business at the sawmill picks up, but how can I plead your case now? You’ve thrown the balance completely askew.”

“Wait for me, Molly. I finally have my pa’s blessing. He’s even helping me find a position in Lockhart. As soon as I’m settled, I’ll come calling, but I can’t court you now. I can’t keep stepping out with you until we’re ready to wed. Will you wait?”

With an explanation to her parents looming, Molly wasn’t in the mood to make promises to the man who’d humiliated her, no matter how regretful he might sound. “After this disgrace my parents will marry me off to the first gassy old man who wanders into our parlor. And maybe it’s for the best. Maybe I’d be happier with someone steady.” Molly tugged at the bottom of her bodice firmly enough that the stitches popped. Here she was, lying in church. Well, she might as well make it a whopper.

“Why would I want to marry a cowboy anyway? Stinking boots, barn manners, and rough . . .” She looked at his hands and couldn’t bring herself to disparage them in any fashion. Not when she wanted nothing more than to feel them holding her close. “By year’s end, my father will be marching me down an aisle, and it won’t matter who’s waiting at the altar as long as the arrangement benefits him.”

“Then every kiss I take is stolen from another man’s wife.” He dropped the fan into the slot in the back of the pew before gracing her with a sly smile. “But you won’t be bullied into marrying some old goat. Remember when you stood down those townies pestering my puppy? You were quite the little spitfire.”

She remembered. Every childhood memory of hers included Bailey. He was like the comfortable old wing chair in her room—always there when she wanted him but not essential. Then last year her clumsy attempts to win his cousin Weston had changed their relationship and revealed that Bailey was who she really needed. In the year they’d been courting, he’d gone from a diversion to her mainstay, her future. She couldn’t imagine going on without him, even if it was temporary.

Molly hadn’t realized how close he was leaning until he straightened suddenly. She turned and caught Reverend Stoker peering in the window. He jerked his chin toward the door, and they both understood.

“More time, Molly. That’s all I’m asking. I want to do right by you.” His dark eyes traveled to her lips. “It’ll be worth the wait. I promise.” And he left her alone before the empty altar.

Molly twisted a blond curl to her mouth and chewed as his footsteps echoed against whitewashed walls. If her parents would allow it, she would walk outside and say yes, and Reverend Stoker would see them wed before the pecan pies were broken out. The vision lingered a second longer than she’d expected, but her wistfulness was replaced once again by frustration.

She lifted her chin and straightened her bonnet. Even if it meant locking herself in her wardrobe, she wouldn’t moon after him. How could she? He’d humiliated her in front of half the town. Prairie Lea gossip would be Lockhart news by Monday. No. He’d have to come to her—and not with empty pockets this time.

She’d been willing to accept a poor man despite her parents’ dire warnings. She’d begun to imagine a life without the luxuries necessary for a lady. She’d grown less concerned with the latest fashions and coiffures. She’d even ventured out once on a promenade in mismatched gloves.

Molly shuddered. After waiting a year for him to be released from his familial duties, she’d known that she’d have to wait a little longer for him to get established—but not that she’d be waiting alone.

Waiting and bracing for a bombardment of parentally approved suitors.

Reckless man! Even if she did manage to resist her parents, how did Bailey expect her to carry on without him? How long before she stopped looking for him over every crowd in town, wondering if he’d managed to sneak away from the ranch to visit?

Only Molly’s insistence and her parents’ long-standing friendship with the Garners had prevented them from banishing Bailey outright, but now she’d be gussied up and sold to the highest bidder.

Did he have any idea what he had done?

“I have half a mind to make him marry you. It’d serve him right,” said Thomas Lovelace.

Molly watched the stripes on her father’s shirt expand and contract with every labored breath from her seat in the back of the surrey. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her ride back to Lockhart. Usually the journey had more to recommend it—like a handsome, cheerful driver, for instance.

The grassland between Prairie Lea and Lockhart offered little to distract her parents from their tirade. They had no interest in the longhorns eyeing their trek across the barren winter fields or the jackrabbit bounding over the knots of dried grass. Rebuking their daughter would be their sole diversion for five miles yet.

“Thank goodness the boy’s got more sense than I gave him credit for. You’d make a poor man miserable,” her father said.

“It was this surrey, wasn’t it?” Adele Lovelace’s gloved hand caressed the leather bench. “Do you know how long I pleaded before your father would purchase it for me?”

Molly grasped the support from the second-row bench and thrust herself forward between her parents’ shoulders. “Your surrey remains untainted, Mother. Of all the things to worry about after I’ve been humiliated before the whole world. We didn’t do anything, or not much. Bailey’s just upset I won’t marry him.”

“After all the music lessons and deportment classes, how could he imagine you’d squander your prospects on him?” Mrs. Lovelace shook her head and clucked softly. “I’m glad your brother isn’t here to see your shame.”

But Nicholas would hear about it, no doubt. Although his new business supplying lumber to the railroad kept him away from home, his partnership with his father’s mill ensured frequent visits and correspondence. Which busybody’s letter would reach him first?

The horse slowed its pace as if waiting for redirection. Molly looked up. The pecan grove. She kicked her boot against the bottom of the front bench, startling the horse and earning a suspicious glare from her father as he struggled to keep the horse from wandering toward the copse of trees.

“So now that Bailey Garner has removed himself from your consideration, are you prepared to entertain more appropriate options?” her mother asked.

Molly didn’t make a peep. Her head churned with possible candidates and how to avoid them. What would it take to outwit her parents? How could she keep her freedom without an outright rebellion?

“It was our mistake pushing you toward Weston when he obviously wasn’t interested,” her mother said, “and now we need to make up for lost time. You aren’t getting any younger.”

Molly adjusted her bonnet as a precaution against freckles.

“Remember,” her father continued, “your stay in Lockhart is dependent on your finding a husband. If you aren’t becoming acquainted with the right sort of gentlemen, you might as well come home. No sense spending all that money on gowns if no one appreciates them. Besides, unless the sawmill does better, there won’t be any money for gowns.”

Molly’s ears perked at the welcomed topic change. She scooted to the edge of her bench. “What’s causing the mill to be unprofitable? Prairie Lea is rebuilding from the fire. Nicholas is sending railroad contracts our way. Lumber prices are stronger than ever.”

“Just because you have a little job in the courthouse doesn’t mean you understand enterprise.” Thomas squared his shoulders.

“You mustn’t allow your position to fill your heart with self-importance. It’s unbecoming in a lady,” her mother said.

“I merely asked a question based on solid information. I fail to see what role pride plays in this.”

“You fail to see what a drought can do,” her father huffed. “If the river wasn’t low, we could float the logs to the mill. As it is, I’m feeding mule teams and paying drivers to bring in the raw material. Nicholas’s railroad contract is locked in, so we’re operating at a loss.”

For all of Molly’s life her father had claimed they were losing money. Made her wonder how rich he’d been in the beginning.

“If you want to help your father,” her mother said, “go back to Lockhart and find a man with income.”

“And connections.” Thomas said. “Someone with capital who’s interested in investing.”

“And, of course, a society leader. We aren’t completely merciless, Molly. There’d be something in it for you.”

Molly frowned. This was no spontaneous discussion.

“Who is it?” She crossed her arms and settled in for a fight. “If you’re going to stick a hook in me and throw me in the creek, I’d like to know for whom we’re fishing.”

Her father pressed his substantial weight back into the surrey seat, causing it to bump into Molly’s knees. “The banker in Lockhart has a son.”

“Mr. Fenton!” Molly covered her eyes. “Mr. Fenton is courting Prue McGraw.”

“The blacksmith’s daughter?” Adele
tsk
ed. “That’s precisely the problem. His parents do not view the match favorably.”

“You talked to them? No, I can’t come between Fenton and Prue. She’s my friend, the court reporter of whom I’ve spoken. She’s been teaching me shorthand so I can take her job when she gets married.”

Her father chuckled. “Don’t let her fool you. The salary for the court reporter is chicken feed compared to your allowance as Mr. Fenton’s wife.”

Allowance? Molly clenched her reticule tightly. No other word could ruffle her feathers so. Every week she brought home her wages from the courthouse and handed them over to her father. Every week she returned to Lockhart with an allowance from him because he
allowed
her to keep a portion of her own money.

She suddenly filled her chest with a long draw of crisp October air. Would being a wife provide her with any freedom? She studied her mother’s tightly wound coif in front of her. Probably not, but what other choice did she have? Anything was preferable to being treated like a child. A girl child, especially.

Stealing Mr. Fenton from Prue was out of the question. Molly wouldn’t betray her friend. Besides, Mr. Fenton’s devotion to Prue McGraw couldn’t be shaken. He, at least, was safe from her parents’ schemes, but whom would they settle on next?

Molly clasped her hands together. Would Fenton willingly stand in as a decoy? She needn’t worry about losing her heart to him, and he definitely had no interest in her. Perhaps an understanding could be reached with the banker’s son that would pacify her parents and give Bailey time to get established.

Would Mr. Fenton play along . . . and would Prue understand?

2

L
OCKHART
, T
EXAS
N
OVEMBER
1879

To Do List:

• Write Mother a scintillating account of dinner with Mr. Fenton.
  
• Buy new tortoiseshell combs.
  
• Learn when Bailey is moving to town.
  

Living in the cultural center of Caldwell County agreed with Molly. Ever since Mr. Myers led that first herd of cattle up what they now called the Chisholm Trail, cowboys and cattlemen had flooded the city. Businesses prospered and the streets bustled. Although the cowhands could get rowdy in certain areas of town, the ladies of Lockhart were moving it toward gentility and sophistication, and Molly wanted to be in on every step. To her mind, the only advantage that quiet little Prairie Lea held was a certain man who’d promised to relocate any day now.

Yet he hadn’t appeared.

Mr. Fenton entered the dining room and scowled as the waiter pointed in her direction. Molly had put off this rendezvous as long as she could, hoping that Bailey would renew his suit, but it’d been three weeks, and she hadn’t heard a word from him. She closed her journal and hid it in her reticule as the banker’s son stalked toward her, taking long strides with short legs. Mr. Fenton barely halted before he collided with her round table.