9781631054617HeLovesMeCole Page 10

  “You know there will be talk.”

  “There’s always talk, Mama.” In a little town like Sunset, ladies had little to do other than tell fanciful tales—usually of the most salacious nature. Rumors were part of life. Emily was actually counting upon the gossip mill to inform Ben of her night out with Willie Morse. She rolled her eyes and turned away from her mother. “Besides, it’s too late. I’ve talked to Lucille, we’ve discussed the position, and I’ve agreed to start after the first of the year. I’ve given her my word. I won’t change my mind.” When a bell downstairs sounded, she flounced past the bed. “Willie is here. I need to go now.” She took a deep breath and braced herself.

  Even though her heart cried out to remain at home, locked away in her room, her angry words with her mother spurred her on. She hurried down the stairs and put on her best smile as Willie slipped her cloak around her shoulders. Together they stepped out into the frigid night.

  * * * *

  The Ladies Charitable Society of Sunset had done a fine job of gathering up second-hand clothes, repairing broken and discarded toys, and packing staples and canned goods donated by Asa Taylor and his wife at the mercantile. The items had been boxed up, wrapped in colored paper, and tied with pretty ribbons, as if they were thoughtfully-chosen Christmas gifts instead of acts of mercy the ladies felt obliged to perform.

  At least the children enjoyed the toys, and most likely the mothers and fathers would be thankful for those cans of beans and sacks of flour, even if they did look a bit embarrassed to accept them. Nobody liked taking handouts.

  Making the deliveries took longer than Ben had expected. He had hoped to finish before sundown. Now, the sun had been gone for hours. A bit late to be calling at the Phillips’ home. Leaving his horse at the livery corral near the Red Mule, he headed in that direction.

  His mind, however, was thousands of miles away.

  He was thinking of Niagara Falls.

  Three years earlier, a daring young woman had crossed the falls on a tight-rope. Ben had never seen the legendary cataracts and could barely wrap his mind around the concept of funambulism as the newspapers had called it. Oh, yes, the Sunset Gazette thought it a marvelous story. Of course, it got swallowed up with all the articles about Colorado Statehood and the new government, but the grainy, photographic image of the woman had stuck itself firmly in Ben’s mind.

  Now, as he approached the Phillips’ residence, he had an inkling of how Maria Spelterini—her name had embedded itself in his head, as well—must have felt when she stepped onto that narrow wire.

  Tread softly. Walk carefully. Don’t go too fast.

  Above all, keep your wits about you.

  In so many things in life, balance was the key. Now, with his head and his heart waging war against themselves, Ben found himself caught in the middle, swaying from one side to the other.

  He wanted to see Emily. He knew she’d come home from school, and the thought made him crazy. Staying away from her made him insane. Yet the troubles at the horse farm had not been resolved. Ben worried still that spending time with Emily might put her in danger.

  Or maybe he was over-reacting, letting his imagination get the best of him. Those odd, prickly sensations might have been nothing more than some odd premonition about this father. And, truth of the matter was, none of the troubles at the Henderson place had anything to do with Ben personally.

  He’d become too zealous, perhaps, too quick to imagine dangers where none existed.

  Most of all, he no longer wanted to live with the guilt he felt for hurting Emily. He wanted to see her, wanted to ask her forgiveness, wanted to set things right between them.

  Ben knocked at the front door of the little house, holding his breath in excitement. He’d slicked up his hair, had put on his best duds, and he’d cleaned and polished his boots. Of course, he’d bought himself a brand, spanking new black felt hat, too. With it tilted at a jaunty angle, it gave him a debonair look that would surely catch Emily’s eye.

  When the door swung open, however, Emily’s mother stood before him. She offered a thin-lipped smile, then gestured for him to step inside.

  “How are you doing, Benjamin?”

  “Fine, ma’am. I was hoping to see Emily. I thought she might want to go to the dance.” Out of respect, he quickly jerked the hat from his head. He stood in the entry way, clutching it by the wide brim, turning it round and round in his big, clumsy hands.

  “I’m sorry, but you’re a bit too late. She’s already gone to the dance…with Willie Morse.”

  Ben’s hands gripped the hat. His head snapped up and he nearly shouted a few obscenities. He didn’t dare say them aloud or he’d be tossed right out on his ear, and he knew Amanda could do it! Although a woman of modest height and build, she had a fearsome temper. One look alone from Amanda Phillips could silence a man and send him slinking away.

  “Oh, I didn’t know.” Ben drew in a slow breath, fighting to hold back the fury raging inside. Damn it! “Well, thanks, ma’am.” He nodded in her direction, plopped the hat on his head, and spun around on his heels. “Have a good Christmas, ma’am.”

  “Yes, Merry Christmas to you, as well.”

  Ben kept a polite look upon his face and maintained a stoic silence until the front door closed behind him. Then, as he turned toward the Sunset Social Hall, he unleashed a virulent string of profanities the likes of which would have made the devil himself blush.

  So, Emily thought she’d take up with Willie Morse now? Not a chance.

  Ben stomped along the boardwalk, kicking at snowdrifts as he hurried toward the social hall. His fault, of course. He should have expected Emily to pull some stupid stunt like this. Never would he have thought she’d stoop so low as to accept an invitation from Willie Morse. He reckoned she must be awfully pissed-off, and now, so was he.

  If he’d been honest with her from the start and had simply explained why he didn’t want her coming home to Sunset…

  He stopped, halting in his tracks as the ridiculous thought drew him up short. Telling Emily anything about the troubles at the Henderson place would have only made her more insistent about coming back, more determined to stay. She fancied herself a sleuth of sorts, always sneaking around, ferreting out secrets, and by God, Ben wouldn’t have it.

  A gust of wintry wind rose up, and quicker than a flock of snowbirds could scatter, his hat went flying from his head, soaring up into the darkness of the night.

  Damn! He’d spent ten bucks on that wide-brimmed felt. Losing it was not going to happen. Keeping sight of it, he chased after it, ducking between storefronts as he watched for it to land. The wind currents put up quite a fight, but finally the game was over. The black hat dropped down from the sky, landing right on Ben’s head. Now, there was a story to tell! Of course, nobody would believe it.

  Chuckling, he reached up, turned the hat to its usual angle, then nodded, satisfied that he had it all right once more. Turning back toward the street, he took a couple of steps, then suddenly ceased moving when he heard low voices. He recognized not one, but both.

  His father.

  And the honorable, esteemed Judge William Howard Morse, Sr.

  The two men weren’t exactly the sort you’d expect to find striking up a friendship. Of course, his father owed his freedom to the judge, but John Brooks had never been one to express much gratitude.

  Curious, Ben skulked deeper into the shadows, moving as stealthily as he could. Maybe Emily was on to something when she talked about always keeping one’s eyes and ears open. It sure as hell couldn’t hurt. Of course, could be the two men were discussing nothing more than the weather or merely exchanging other pleasantries, but if Ben were a betting man, he’d lay odds that the conversation involved more than a few howdy-do’s.

  “…much longer is this going to take?”

  Judge Morse’s words were muffled and indistinct. Damn the cold winter wind! Ben cocked his head and strained to hear. He tensed when his father spoke next.

 
“Can’t go rushing in on an enterprise like this. Don’t want anybody getting their suspicions up, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Morse cleared his throat. “You do know the location. Am I right? You know where the gold—”

  The last word came out strangled, as though a hand had clamped over the judge’s thick mouth. The image of his father silencing William Howard Morse might have made Ben grin except for the fact that the topic was not a laughing matter.

  Ben leaned forward. He’d missed a few words but figured he could piece a few facts together.

  “…told you, keep your trap shut, damn it. Yeah, I know what I’m doing, like I told you before. Just hold tight and don’t be hanging around too close to me. We don’t exactly run in the same social circles. Folks might start to wonder if they see us jawing about too much.”

  “True. But keep in mind, Brooks, I’ve got a lot to lose if this goes sour.”

  “And you’ve got a lot to gain by playing the game my way. Maybe you need to keep that in mind.”

  Ben could envision his father jabbing a thick forefinger at the judge’s chest and wished he could poke his head around the corner to see the sight for himself. He didn’t dare move. Standing rigid, his breath held tight, he waited, listening for more. He heard a few grunts, a snort from his father, and then words too muffled to understand. After that, only the sound of footfalls came. He ducked into the darkness as two shadows crossed in front of him. The two men parted and went their separate ways.

  Ben sank back against the side of the building. Why in the hell hadn’t he figured it out sooner? Damn, he must have cotton stuffed inside his skull instead of brains. He slammed one gloved fist against the palm of his other hand and cursed again. What sort of idiot had he become?

  Ben shrugged his jacket collar up, hunched his shoulders and hurried toward the social hall, his mind still spinning from all he’d heard. Of course, he told himself, he shouldn’t be surprised to have his suspicions confirmed. From the minute his father showed up at the Henderson place, Ben had wondered at the circumstances behind his fortuitous release from prison. Men who killed deserved to be behind bars.

  * * * *

  Emily’s gaze roamed over the crowded social hall. Her lips pressed together, she lowered her head and turned away from the couples now kicking up their heels in another round of dancing. From his corner, old Gideon Fellowes shouted the calls to chase your neighbor, pass the axle, then scoot and little while Harvey Suddarth laid into his fiddle with gusto. The night appeared a rousing success, and the next Sunset Gazette—always in search of news to print—would surely report that a good time was had by all.

  All except Emily Sue Phillips.

  She placed a hand to her bosom and wondered if her heart were still beating. It seemed to have shrunk. But, no! Had her heart disappeared—or stopped altogether—it would not be aching. The pain and disappointment would disappear along with it. Little chance of that happening!

  Instead, her agony grew worse moment by moment.

  The stifling air closed in around her, making it hard to catch her breath. Unable to bear the noise and confusion a moment longer, she looked for an escape.

  Beside her, Willie Morse grinned and grabbed her hand. “Come on, let’s join the set.”

  “It’s too late. Besides, I don’t feel like dancing now.” Earlier they’d taken part in one of the squares, and Emily had nearly died of embarrassment as her partner stumbled about, unable to follow Gideon’s fast-paced calls or keep up with the rhythm of the music. She had no desire to repeat the performance.

  What a colossal mistake she’d made by asking Willie to accompany her to the dance. Not only had she gotten herself expelled from school for her trouble—not that she minded all that much, but she knew the awful truth would probably kill her father—she’d done it only with the intention of arousing a bit of jealousy from Ben, and so far, he hadn’t even bothered to show up.

  Worse still, guilt nagged at her conscience. She had used Willie for her own selfish purposes, had led him on, dragging him to Sunset on false pretenses. Obnoxious though he might be, he didn’t deserve to be treated so shabbily. No one did.

  “I need to talk to you,” she told the eager-eyed young man who was downing yet another shot of whiskey. Jake Walker, owner of the Red Mule, had set up the bar for the dance and was selling his special “kick-in-the-head” brew. Willie had bought a few too many.

  “Talk?” He squinted down at her. “About what?” He cupped a hand to his ear and bent forward, straining to hear.

  “I owe you an apology.” It pained her to speak the words, but she couldn’t lead him on any longer. He would be angry. Squaring her shoulders, Emily prepared to deal with the consequences.

  “For what, honey?” Willie grinned and leaned close. “You haven’t done anything wrong that I can see.”

  A lump formed in her throat. “Yes, I have. I shouldn’t have imposed on you,” she said, but her words were lost in the noise and confusion around them as Harvey tore into another raucous dance tune.

  “Come on, a new set’s starting. Let’s kick up our heels a bit more, what do you say?” His words were slurred as he grabbed her waist and pulled her toward him.

  “No, I don’t want to dance.” She pushed at his chest, trying to extricate herself from his clutches. “I want to talk, that’s all.”

  He stepped back, a look of confusion in his muddy eyes. “Talk? What fun is that? We came here to have a good time.”

  “Yes, well, it looks as if you’re doing just that.” She rolled her eyes. Not that she felt it was wrong, or that liquor was the devil’s own drink like some people believed, but she’d never seen much point in downing shots of whiskey until you couldn’t remember who you were, where you were, or what you’d come there for.

  “You’re not having a good time?” he asked. He leaned toward her again, nearly losing his balance and tumbling forward. “What’s the matter, honey? You need a little Red Mule special? Might loosen you up a bit.”

  “I don’t want to loosen up, Willie. I want to go home,” she said, turning toward the door. “I don’t want to spoil your fun, of course, so don’t worry about me. I’ll get home on my own.”

  “You most certainly will not. It’s dark out there, and it’s cold. You’re not going anywhere.”

  Again, he reached for her, but she slipped away and walked hurriedly toward the exit. With luck, he’d be too slow and too clumsy to catch her. She would lose herself among the crowd, grab her cloak, and steal out the door.

  Unfortunately luck failed her. Before she’d taken more than a few steps, he lunged after her and caught her by the shoulder. “You said you wanted to talk. All right, fine. We’ll talk.” He seemed suddenly more sober. Not coherent, exactly, but at least capable of understanding.

  “I—” Now that she had his attention, Emily wasn’t sure what to say. She fell silent. She cast her gaze downward, took a deep breath, and then lifted her chin to peer up at Willie. “I feel awful about this.” Truly, she did. Her stomach roiled, and she clasped her arms around herself.

  Willie shook his head. “I can’t hear you.” He put a hand at the small of her back and guided her toward a doorway at the back of the hall. She wasn’t sure where it led. “We can talk in here,” he suggested, pushing the door open.

  Emily followed him into a small room. It appeared to be a makeshift office of sorts. Only the dimmest light shone in from outside. Two weeks before, the moon had been full and bright, a brilliant silver orb in the night-time skies. Now, nearly new, it offered only the faintest rays.

  “I don’t think this is a very good idea.” Emily stood just inside the door, hesitant to go farther. Any thought of apology was forgotten when Willie reached around behind her and closed the door.

  “Willie! What are you—”

  He laughed. “You’re a clever one, I’ll give you that,” he said, ogling her from top to toe. His gaze lingered on her breasts.

  Emily brought her arms up and cr
ossed them. “Open the door, Willie. Let me out.”

  His drunken laughter echoed through the little room. “No need for any more of your false modesty. You asked me to bring you to the dance, and you’ve been trying all night to get me alone in some dark corner.” Rocking back and forth on his heels, he leered hungrily at her. “Now, you have. We’re alone, no one’s going to disturb us, and let’s not waste a minute.”

  He charged at her, grabbing her and spinning her around toward the desk before she had a chance to move. His swiftness caught her off-guard. Willie leaned over, his whiskey-laden breath hot against Emily’s cheek. She twisted her head away, but he jerked it back and moved it to plant a sour kiss on her mouth.

  “Stop it. Leave me alone.” She pushed with all her strength, but a girl of her size was no match for Willie’s brawn. Bent back over the desk, she did her best to squirm free of his grasp.

  “Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.” His words came out thick and slurred.

  “Please, leave me alone.”

  “You know you want it.” He pressed harder against her. “You’ve been chasing after me for years, always flouncing around in your pretty little skirts, trying to get my attention.”

  “No, I never—”

  “You’ve got my attention now, honey. You make me hot, you know. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  “Let go. I don’t want you. I don’t want you touching me.”

  “Sure, you do. You asked me to this dance, remember? I knew all along what you really wanted, so no need to pretend otherwise. No reason to act shy now.”

  Kick him where it hurts.

  She knew what to do, but with his bulk spread-eagled over her, bending her across the old desk, she couldn’t maneuver enough to take action. Even when she tried to bring up a knee to smash it against his groin, she couldn’t move. He had her legs firmly pinned down.