The Bride Wore Blue (8 page)

“I agree. You and your designs have much to offer the women of Colorado.” Etta Ondersma’s frown defied her enthusiastic statement. She rubbed the gold wedding band on her left hand. “My husband passed this winter, and money has been tight without his income.” Closing the sketch pad, she slowly raised her head. “I’m sorry, dear. Right now, there isn’t enough business to hire a second designer or even another seamstress.”

If the woman hired a younger, more relevant designer, she’d gain new clients, which would build the business. Keeping her argument to herself, Vivian lifted her sketch pad off the table. She knew not to spoil her chances in case Etta Ondersma changed her mind. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Ondersma. And my condolences.”

Nodding, the widow stood, and Vivian followed suit. “The town is still growing. We can pray that my business will expand as well.”

Vivian wanted to take comfort in the woman’s compliments and assurances, but marriage wasn’t an option for her. She had to find work. Granted, she didn’t deserve the career of her dreams. But if not dress designing, then what? That was all she’d ever thought about doing. She tucked her sketch pad under her arm.

“Rest assured, you’ll be the first I contact should I need a designer,” Mrs. Ondersma said.

As Vivian left the shop, she didn’t have the faintest idea what she would do in the meantime.

C
arter’s bay stallion snorted at a passing wagon team and yanked the reins tight at the hitching rail. Carter pushed his hat back on his head and studied his friend, Gilbert Neilson, the chief of police for Victor. The two of them shared a ten-year history, having both lived in the silver camp of Leadville before moving south to the Cripple Creek District. They sat in front of Gilbert’s office, swapping stories over mugs of coffee strong enough to grow hair on a baby’s chest.

Just last week, the Bank of Victor had succumbed to a robbery, the third Colorado bank hit in less than two months. Carter suspected the men who robbed the banks were connected to the train bandits, if not the same. “There were three guys in on the robbery at the bank in Divide too.”

“Yup.” Gilbert sat slouched with his legs extended, leaving plenty of room for passersby on the boardwalk. “Older one clanged the sawed-off barrel of a scattergun between the bars at the teller window.”

“Second fellow a tall one, carry a nickel Schofield?”

Gilbert nodded. “Held the revolver on the guard by the door. Third one, younger, stood just outside with a wide-brim cowboy hat pulled down over his whiskered face. Told folks the banker was holding a
meeting for his tellers and would reopen soon. A shopkeeper said the kid had a southern accent.”

Carter took a long swig of black coffee. The robbery pattern was as distinct as the tea roses on his mother’s English dinnerware. Gilbert raked his hair, the color of a cooked carrot. “Did either of the train robbers have an accent?”

“Witnesses didn’t hear the tall one say anything. The second one sounded like he had something in his mouth and smelled of licorice root. Witness said it sounded like he was chewing on marbles.” Miss Vivian Sinclair had said it, to be precise.

Gilbert straightened. “Sounds like the same guys hittin’ the banks took the cash box Tuesday.”

Carter set his mug of steaming coffee at his feet. “Only two men involved on the train, but they didn’t need a lookout.”

“Could’ve been waitin’ for them with mounts.”

“We only found evidence of two horses.”

“Three banks. Whoever’s doing the robbing should have had enough by now. That first haul in Manitou Springs should’ve satisfied them for a month of Sundays.” Gilbert peered into his cup and gave the contents a swirl. “Dealin’ with a real greedy bunch.”

“Especially if they’re responsible for the escapade on the train too.” Carter picked up his folder and pulled out the sketch Edgar Hamilton had made of the two men. “Here’s a drawing based on the information one of the witnesses gave.”

Gilbert stared at him, his eyes narrowing as he tipped his head. “Miss Vivian Sinclair?” His tone carried more than a hint of teasing.

“How did you know?”

“Small county.”

“It’s about the biggest county in the state.” Carter paused. “You talked to Jon.”

Gilbert’s exaggerated nod set his hat to flopping. “Said you and Miss Sinclair threw off enough sparks to light the train car.”

“She’d been through an ordeal, coming face to face with a bandit and all. So, yes, she was a bit tetchy, and I had a job to do.” Keeping the more flattering adjectives to himself, Carter looked away and tugged his vest straight. “Getting back to business—”

“If we must. But a little fun wouldn’t hurt you, Mr. All-About-Business.”

Ignoring his friend’s comment, Carter pulled the wanted poster from the folder. “You think this man, Pickett, could be the one with the Schofield at the bank?”

“Could be.” Gilbert pointed to the physical description. “Fits the height of the guy wielding the six-shooter. They pegged him at six feet plus and skinny like an aspen trunk.”

“Witnesses described the second man on the train as being tall enough to hit the lamps if he hadn’t hunched.” Carter handed Gilbert the sketches from his folder.

“Looks like the same guy to me.” A frown clouded Gilbert’s blue eyes. “This gang is rumored to be moving southwest.”

Carter nodded.

“Cripple Creek’s bank could be next.”

“Won’t happen on my watch.” Carter shoved the poster back into the folder.

“I said that about Victor.”

Heat flooded Carter’s face, and he cringed. “Didn’t mean to imply—”

Gilbert raised a freckled hand. “I know. You’re out to prove something. I might do the same if I was trying to get out from under my dead father’s shadow.”

Trying to? A vein in Carter’s neck throbbed. This wasn’t a new conversation for him and Gilbert. Although he had nothing new to say on the subject, Carter looked at his friend and responded anyway. “I don’t have any say in the matter.”

“Sure, the man’s a legend, but—”

“I know.” Carter drew in a deep breath. “That was then. This is now. Easy to say, but trying to do the work, knowing what happened to my father, is like going hand to hand with a bear.”

“Fair enough.” Gilbert gulped coffee. “Just don’t go getting yourself killed tryin’ to prove something.” He paused. “Not when I’m finally gettin’ used to having you around.”

Carter chuckled. “Point taken.”

“Good.”

“Except for a knot on the conductor’s head, no one’s been hurt in any of the robberies.”

“Doesn’t mean it can’t happen. So far all the bankers and customers have cooperated. Given freely. But all it takes is one person resisting.”

Even one that accidentally extended her foot at an inopportune time. Carter’s gut tightened.

“You okay?” Gilbert asked.

“Nothing that catching a gang of robbers won’t cure.” Carter lifted his cup from the wooden boardwalk and drained it. “I best head back.” He handed Gilbert the mug. “Thanks for the coffee. Watch your back.”

Gilbert nodded. “You do the same.”

“Telephone the office if you find out anything that might help me keep my end of the valley safe.”

“Will do.”

When Carter turned back to the road, he noticed a particularly fashionable young woman crossing Fourth Street on the other side of Victor Avenue. He repositioned his hat for a better view. Couldn’t be who he thought it was. Not here. Not alone.

Gilbert stood beside him. “Let me guess—Miss Vivian Sinclair?”

“The one and only.”

Waving at her, Carter didn’t know whether to give thanks that there was only one Vivian Sinclair, or to thank God she existed and had moved to his part of Colorado.

Vivian had taken too long to recognize one of the two men staring at her from across the street. She blinked, hoping the scene was nothing more than a figment of her imagination, but the men were still there, and now Deputy Alwyn was waving at her.

After hearing the bad news from Etta, she was already prone to be rude, and she had vowed to avoid the lawman who wore an inviting smile. Since avoiding Deputy Alwyn was proving to be impossible, ignoring him had to be forgivable. Vivian turned to retreat up Victor Avenue. She’d wait at the depot for her afternoon train.

“Miss Sinclair.” The familiar baritone voice sounded much closer than the boardwalk on the other side of the street. Before she could confirm his whereabouts, he stood directly in front of her, his shoulders broad and his jaw set. A folder was tucked under his arm.

“Deputy Alwyn.” She considered adding
it is you
, but the darkness in his eyes told her he knew he’d been snubbed.

“I thought we’d put our rough start behind us.”

“We had.” Vivian matched his stare. “We did. It is.”

“Then why are you avoiding me? First you couldn’t leave my office fast enough last Wednesday. You darted out of church like a startled rabbit. And now—”

“Now I have a train to catch.” Vivian moistened her lips, hoping it would ease her dry throat as well.

“Unless they’ve changed the schedule, the train isn’t due for another hour.”

He was relentless. Vivian looked him straight in the eye, a softer brown now. “I do have a little time on my hands. Did you have further robbery business you wished to discuss with me?”

He blew out a long breath.

“If so—”

“Did I do something to offend you?”

He never should have made the switch from exasperating to charming. “It isn’t you.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I resemble someone you wish to avoid?”

She couldn’t help giggling. Humor and heart. Relentless and respectable. All of which made it impossible for her not to like this man. “My adjustment to Colorado isn’t going as smoothly as I’d hoped. I just came from an interview that I was sure would lead to employment.”

“It didn’t?”

“No. Despite my best effort.”

“I’m sorry. Please allow me to walk you to the depot.”

She nodded. “That would be fine.”

He held up the folder. “Mr. Hamilton’s final sketches of the bandits you described. I came to Victor to show them to the chief of police here.” Glancing across the street, he returned the police chief’s wave.

“I’d be interested in seeing the sketches as well.”

“I’d like that too.” He pressed his hat onto his head and smiled. “Looks like my friend wants to meet you. Come with me while I retrieve my horse?”

“I can do that.” All part of her adventure.

“We can look at the sketches while we wait at the depot.”

Vivian nodded.
We wait?
He intended to see her onto the train? Well, that was better than offering her a ride back to town on the back of his horse.

The deputy stepped off the boardwalk first and held his hand out to her. His confident touch did nothing to encourage avoidance, even if it were possible. As soon as her left foot felt solid on the ground, she let go of his hand. “Thank you.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He repeated the kind gesture at the boardwalk on the other side of the street.

“Gilbert, this is Miss Vivian Sinclair from Cripple Creek.”

His friend tugged the brim of a floppy hat that did little to tame his wavy red hair. “Gilbert Neilson, ma’am. It’s good to meet you. I’ve heard favorable things about you.”

“Oh?” She glanced at Deputy Alwyn, who suddenly colored as if he’d been in the sun too long.

“Yes. We talked about the train robbery.” Deputy Alwyn scrubbed his goatee. “I told Chief Neilson that you’ve provided important information.” He exchanged quiet looks with his friend and stepped to the hitching rail, where the horse nudged his shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse us, Gilbert, I’m going to walk Miss Sinclair to the depot.”

“Good to catch up.” Mr. Neilson shifted his attention to Vivian. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Sinclair. I hope you’ll visit our fair town again soon.”

“Thank you, I’d like that.” Especially if it meant Etta Ondersma had called to hire her. Vivian dipped her chin and turned toward the horse. His hand ready, Deputy Alwyn guided her to the rocky street.

He let go of her hand too soon, and not soon enough.