Caught in the Middle (21 page)

“But he attacked her.”

Anne stood. “These dishes aren’t going to clean themselves.” She approached the basin and swished the silverware around, silently staring at the swirling water.

“Do you have regrets?” Nick asked from the table.

“Over shooting him? No. Never. Taking a life is an awful ordeal. I wouldn’t want to do it again, but Rosa’s danger gave me the courage to defeat him.” She turned to face him. “And now, there’s only one thing that terrifies me—my own poor judgment. I never dreamed that Jay was capable of abuse. All the students adored him. The girls fought for his attention. There was no sign that he’d misuse his power.”

Nicholas glanced up, an eyebrow raised, but he allowed her to continue unchallenged.

“That’s what terrifies me. I know how to handle a gun. After years in the wild I hear noises other people don’t. I read signs. I can predict what’s fixing to charge from the bushes, but I never imagined someone could go from acting so nice to enjoying hurting me. That’s what scares me. What if I make the same mistake twice?”

“It is possible.” Nick pressed the cork lid onto the jar of balm. “I can’t make promises on behalf of every member of my sex.”

Her laugh was bitter. “And I thought you’d try to reassure me.”

“Like I said, I can’t make promises for anyone else, only myself.”

Anne didn’t know where to look. Over the last two days a barrier had come down between them, but she wasn’t sure if she could go forward. The way looked clear, but so did most traps.

“You’re tired,” he said. “I won’t keep you any longer. Will I see you at church Sunday?” He stood and swept his cuff links off of the table and into his palm.

Anne nodded, but she had questions of her own. “How about you? Why is Garber’s most eligible bachelor unattached? Or do you have a favorite waiting in the remuda?”

“There’s no one else, if that’s your worry.” Nick rested a hand on the doorknob. “I’ve been waiting for the right lady to come along, and I’ll keep waiting for her until she’s ready.”

 18 

N
OVEMBER
1883

What would his life look like a year from now? A month from now? Ever since the train holdup, Nick’s carefully laid plans had veered out of control. The commissioner appointment had promised to be another laurel on his brow but instead had proved to be his undoing. Would he win the election and expose the corruption, or had he gambled everything and lost?

Nick smiled. He hadn’t lost everything. Not when he was gaining Anne’s trust.

The morning sun pinked the eastern sky, melting last week’s blues away. It was Monday, the day before the election, and no matter how badly his turbulent situation in business, politics, and society had buffeted him, he’d found sanctuary in an unexpected quarter. He hadn’t expected to find an ally in Anne Tillerton, but she shone as the only bright spot in an otherwise dismal future.

Anne’s question about his having a lady friend in the wings had made him smile all weekend. Just imagine the consternation his troubles would bring on one of the refined belles of
his set. Their fathers would lecture, their mothers fret. At least God had spared him that. At least he hadn’t taken on a needy, extravagant woman whose demands would run him into the poorhouse.

A buffalo hunter and a baby wouldn’t be nearly the burden.

As Nicholas approached his building, he saw Joel coming from the opposite direction.

“Coming for me?” Nick asked.

Joel’s feet dragged. “Where’s Anne?”

“She’s probably upstairs helping Harold balance the accounts. Why?”

Joel looked at the office window above their heads. “Let’s step into the consignment broker’s first. We can talk while I check for stolen goods.”

Nick took the steps to the door of the seedy establishment and followed Joel inside. “How did you like that reception at the Stanfords’ Friday?”

Joel touched the brim of his hat by way of greeting to the clerk behind the counter and then perused the gold watches beneath the glass. “So Ian Stanford changed candidates midstream?”

“There’s much I haven’t told you.” He found it difficult to bite his tongue as the clerk set tray after tray of jewelry and coins before Joel. Joel’s eyes flickered over each, but finding nothing suspicious he stepped away from the counter. They wandered away from the clerk, giving Nick a chance to continue. “Stanford vowed to ruin me if I didn’t vote down the Choctaw River Bridge.”

“It passed.”

“And I voted for it, but it’s not just Stanford’s interfering. I overheard a conversation between Ophelia and Judge Calloway.”

Joel’s chin shot up. He cast a nervous glance toward the empty store front.

“Judge Calloway involved in corruption? You’re turning an already rotten day into the worst.”

“I wish I could give you more evidence. If you could get records from the bank, maybe we could go over them together—”

“But the election is tomorrow, and I’m going to be otherwise engaged.”

“What’s more important than a crooked judge?”

“The judge can wait. I’m more worried about Anne.”

Nick blinked. “Is Ophelia causing trouble for her?”

“No, but the Reverend and Mrs. Holland just might be.” Joel held the door open for him and followed him out onto the covered porch. “The Hollands are from Atoka, Indian Territory. Seems they had a prodigal son that they never gave up on. He turned his back on them, even changed his name so as not to give them more grief.”

“And they think Anne has something to do with him?” Nick asked.

“In a way she does. Anne knew Finn Cravens Holland. His parents’ wire was waiting on me this morning. They asked about claiming their son’s body—and his child.”

Nick’s mouth went dry. “It’s some kind of hoax.”

“I’m afraid not. Anne hired a solicitor to check into the situation, and when the lawyer tracked down Finn’s identity, he had to contact the family. Turns out they want the boy.”

Nick’s stomach turned sour. His jaw chilled until his teeth hurt. “They can’t take Sammy away from Anne. Not now.”

“Believe me, I can’t stand the thought, either, but they’re his grandparents. Legally, she has no right to him.”

Nick braced himself against the pawnbroker’s wall. No one would be surprised that Finn lied, but why couldn’t these people accept that they’d lost their son? Did they have to get involved?

Sammy’s adoration had changed Anne. He’d softened her, allowed her to love someone who was safe. But no, now even the child had proven a bad risk. She’d given her heart to this little boy, and he was going to leave her.

He couldn’t let it happen, but Joel’s grim face told him there was no alternative.

“Are you sure we can’t challenge their custody? Are you sure there’s no recourse?”

“I’ve been ordered to take the kid to Atoka tomorrow. If she wants to apply to a judge, she’ll have her choice of Judge Calloway here or Judge Parker in Fort Smith.”

Nick moistened his lips. Could he convince Anne to apply to the judge? He shook his head. No judge in the country would give a baby boy to a widow woman with a shady background—especially when she wasn’t kin. Anne didn’t trust the law already. She wouldn’t entrust Sammy’s future to a judge.

“She’ll run.” Nick straightened. “And you won’t be able to track her once she gets out of town. She’ll disappear.”

“I’ll overlook your low opinion of my tracking skills and ask for your advice. Should I take the child immediately? Would that be easier on everyone involved?”

Nick’s heart wrung. Take the child from her—her child—and hand it over to strangers? The situation scared him more than a viper’s den of Stanford’s. It would either break her or she would determine to win at any cost. Devastating either way.

“I can’t . . . I can’t even consider it.”

“We don’t have a choice, Nick. It’s not our decision.”

He grabbed Joel’s arm. “Let her go with you to Atoka. Perhaps meeting the grandparents will make it easier on her. At least that way, you wouldn’t have to tend the child by yourself.”

“But watching out for her will be that much more trouble. The only way I’d let her come was if you’d come, too.”

Nick lowered his head. Leave town on Election Day? How would that look? If word got around that he’d fled while the polls were open, the consequences could be disastrous. Still, Anne’s very existence was at stake here. She would be tempted to act rashly, and even if she submitted, losing Sammy would destroy her. He couldn’t place his success above her survival.

“I’ll come. She’s more important to me than this election.”

“Then we’ll cast our votes in the morning and get Anne and Sammy before the train leaves. My only fear is that she’ll get wind of our plans and run. We’d better keep this to ourselves.”

Planning the details was beyond Nick. He couldn’t get past the fact that the child Anne loved would be taken from her, perhaps never to be seen again. He cast about, looking for some reprieve. He churned the news, the process, the possibilities, knowing that he would have a sleepless night rehashing the same poor choices.

“Tonight we’re getting the soapboxes out on the square.” Nick rubbed his forehead. “How in the world am I going to say anything coherent?”

“I just hope Anne understands I take no pleasure in this duty.” Joel shuffled his feet on the boards. “Now about Judge Calloway: There’s not much I can do before we leave tomorrow.”

“I don’t expect there’ll be a simple resolution. After the election, I’ll be in a better position to do something. I can’t worry about that just yet. Not when I know what lies ahead for Anne.”

“Then you fulfill your commitments tonight, and I’ll meet you in the morning.”

Nick nodded, his heart breaking. “And I’ll go upstairs and try to forget what you just told me.”

Where was he? Usually Nick was in his office before she arrived, but this morning even Harold was growing concerned.

“Could he be with the Stanfords? Tomorrow is Election Day, after all.”

The bandages around Harold’s splint looked like they’d been dragged behind a six-horse stagecoach.

“He’d better not be.” Was it wrong to wish Ophelia would come to the office? Was it wrong to wish she could see Anne back at work? Anne watched the dust motes sparkle in the morning light. She stood and shook out her skirt. “I’m going after him.”

Harold cocked his head. “Where?”

“I’ll walk toward the Stanfords’ house and keep my eyes open along the way. Heaven help them if they did anything to him.”

Going down the stairs in a dress was a hassle. Especially when she was mulling over possible excuses for her tardy boss. Anne snatched her skirt away from her boots before she tripped over it. Her boss? True, he was more than that, but exactly what he was to her she didn’t want to define. Not just yet. Life in Garber took getting used to, and she wanted
to ease along gently. She was pleased with their current situation—Nick at the office, Sammy waiting for her at home. No use in rushing on past.

She reached the foot of the fresh piney staircase and took a deep breath. No telling what kind of mischief had befallen Nick. She aimed to lead him out of it.

Rounding the corner of the collateral broker, she nearly crashed into him.

“Why are you hiding here?”

His face turned red and he snapped to attention. “I’m not. I was talking to Joel and I lost track of time.”

“Harold and I were worried. You could’ve been waylaid in a ditch somewhere.”

The red ribbon on his lapel rose and fell in a dramatic sigh. He took her hand. “Listen, I don’t think there’ll be much for you at the office today. You might as well go home and play with Sammy.”

Something wasn’t right. They’d shared much recently, but Nicholas was hiding something from her. Had he come to his senses? Did the spotless Mr. Lovelace finally realize what a messy woman he’d gotten tangled up with?

“There’ll be too much today for Harold to handle alone. He’s not supposed to use his arm until—” She took a sharp breath with the enlightenment. “You don’t want anyone to see me this near to the election. Is that it? You could lose votes if people link us together?”

He squeezed her hand. “We are already linked, Anne. I’m not ashamed of our relationship.”

But neither did he offer a forthright excuse for sending her home. Now she was positive that he was holding something back.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

He avoided her gaze. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

For someone as forthcoming as he, the effort it took to not share whatever was on his mind must be eating through him like termites.

“I’ll go home, then. I’ve been eyeing the river just past Comanche Street. Looks like a good place to start teaching Sammy to read tracks and signs. Who knows, we might catch us a rabbit or something.”

“Don’t go to the river.”

“Why not? You don’t think the Stanfords are coming after me, do you?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just that I’d be . . . worried . . . if you left town today.”

There it was again—his not saying what he meant. Anne put her hands on her hips. “Maybe you’ve got the jitters. I don’t know how else to explain the way you’re behaving.”

“I’ve told you what I can. Tomorrow I can talk more freely.”

Tomorrow after the election? What secret was he hiding? She was on the verge of protesting when she spotted Mr. Stanford headed their way.