Ana Seymour (4 page)

Carter grimaced. “It will give them something to think about besides your sister, then.”

Jennie smiled. “Yes. That’s a strategy I haven’t used yet. If I become a greater scandal, they’ll turn their attention away from Kate.” She moved closer to him and linked her arm through his. “I shall call you Carter. And you must call me Jennie. Loudly enough for them to hear it all the way back to Mr. Billingsley’s store.”

Carter chuckled. He had his doubts about the wisdom of her so-called strategy. As far as he could tell, the town matrons had plenty of ammunition to lob at Kate Sheridan and her sister both, if given cause. But he was enjoying her good humor. “Jennie it is,” he said with a grin.

“Thank you…Carter,” she replied, raising her voice as she said his name.

They turned their heads in unison and, sure enough, the three matrons were staring after them with appalled expressions.

Jennie and Carter smiled at each other, then started toward Dr. Millard’s once again. As they walked down the street, Jennie began to giggle. Carter had heard her raging and had heard her determined. He’d heard her with worry cracking her voice. But nothing he’d heard from her up to now affected him like that giggle. He found it more enchanting than a choir of angels.

Dr. Millard had been with Kate for over an hour. By the time he emerged from her bedroom at the far end of the hall, Jennie was pacing the parlor, taut with
worry. Carter had left her at the doctor’s office after telling Jennie that he’d be interested in hearing a report on her sister’s condition.

She’d spent the first few minutes after arriving home going over the conversation she’d had with the handsome prosecutor. Carter Jones wasn’t
so
bad, she reckoned. Perhaps Kate was right that not all men were like Sean Flaherty.

But as the minutes ticked by and Dr. Millard still had not emerged from Kate’s bedroom, she began to get more and more nervous. She snapped unreasonably at Barnaby when he pushed aside the parlor door drapes, just because she’d hoped it was the doctor.

When Dr. Millard finally did come through the arched doorway, he looked tired and suddenly old. Her father and Dr. Millard had been the same age and the greatest of friends. But Papa’s cheeks had never had that pallid, puffy look. His lips had not grown crinkled with lines. And now, of course, they never would. Jennie felt a sob rise in her throat. She’d lost so much. Dear Lord, not Kate, too.

“You look like a child who’s had its toys snatched away, Jennie,” the doctor said gently. “Come on. Kate needs you to be strong right now, not weepy.”

“What’s the matter with her?” Dr. Millard’s words had hurt her pride and stiffened her back, which was most likely exactly the effect he had intended.

“Honey, some girls are blessed to have babies by the baker’s dozen without batting an eye, but your sister’s turning out to be a more delicate sort.”

Jennie bit her lip. “Is she going to be all right? I mean…is the baby…?”

Dr. Millard pulled on Jennie’s arm and led her to the settee, where he lowered himself into the down cushion with a heavy whoosh. “She’s bleeding, Jennie. That’s not supposed to happen. Could be she’ll lose the little tyke. Now, maybe that’s what’s meant to happen. Poor little thing without a father. You know sometimes the Lord…”

Jennie had let him pull her to a seat, but she sat erect, and when he began the last statement she jumped to her feet again. “Dr. Millard, this baby may not have a father, but it
will
have a family. A loving, caring family. So don’t tell me that it’s not meant to be. Just tell me what we have to do to be sure my sister has a healthy child.”

The doctor leaned back and closed his eyes with a sigh. “The only thing I can tell you is that she’s got to rest Keep her off her feet as much as possible. I know that puts a lot of burden on you.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“You should have some help.”

Jennie gave a little snort. “Shall I post a notice in the town square and see how many people come rushing to help the two wicked Sheridan sisters?”

“That’s not fair, Jennie. You know you have friends here. Lyle Wentworth came to see me about your sister. He’d help out around this place.”

“Kate doesn’t want to see him, Dr. Millard. And I don’t imagine you’d want me upsetting her.”

The doctor shook his head. “Definitely not. But there are others. That young Carter Jones seemed a bit taken with you when he escorted you to my place today. I bet he’d lend a hand.”

To Jennie’s amazement, she felt her cheeks begin to grow hot. Could she be blushing? Only silly girls blushed. Silly, lovesick girls. “I’m sure Mr. Jones has more important things to do than worry about us,” she said. “We’ll get along fine. I’ve got Barnaby to help out. And the miners will lend a hand, if I ask them. We’ll make sure Kate doesn’t so much as fluff the pillow from her bed.”

Dr. Millard pushed heavily on the arm of the settee and stood. He leaned over to put a soft hand on Jennie’s still-blushing cheek, which seem to burn under his touch. “You’ve got your parents’ spirit, girl. The same spirit that took them through all those winters in the mountains. Strong, independent people they were. Some of the finest I’ve known.”

Jennie nodded, her throat too full to answer.

“So you and I will do our best to take care of our Kate and of that grandchild of theirs,” he added.

As the doctor quietly left the parlor, Jennie stood staring blindly at the bombazine curtains. She’d been thinking of all the problems this coming child was causing, but what about the child itself? Her parents’ grandchild. Her sister was going to have a baby—a new life to carry on the proud tradition that her parents had done such a good job of passing on to her and Kate. Yes, she’d take care of Kate and of the baby, too. She wouldn’t let them down. And Dr. Millard was wrong. She didn’t need help from anyone to do it.

L
ike the eye of a hurricane, Kate sat on a stool in one corner of the kitchen, viewing the scene with one of her serene smiles. Around her the room was in chaos.

Jennie stood next to the stove, sleeves rolled up, her hair fallen in damp ringlets around her neck. Dark patches had begun to show across her back where her dress clung to her sweaty body.

Barnaby had climbed up into the tin sink and was balancing precariously while he picked the good china plates one by one out of the high cupboard and handed them to Dennis Kelly, who took each fragile dish in his meaty hands and set it down on the table as if it were a piece of spun sugar.

Brad Connors and Humphrey Smith were standing together at the cutting counter, jostling each other and grumbling as they chopped vegetables.

“Smitty ain’t doing it right, Miss Jennie,” Brad complained. “He’s not cutting off enough at the tops.”

“You’re throwing away half the carrot, Connors,”
Smitty replied. “I didn’t break my back picking those out of the garden for you to waste ‘em like that.”

Jennie set aside the big spoon she’d been using to stir the stew and reached to put the cover on the big pot. “It doesn’t matter, boys. However you chop them will be fine. We have plenty of carrots.”

“Well, someone else is going to have to go grub in the dirt and find them,” Smitty said under his breath, but he moved a step back from where Brad continued to chop furiously, throwing the top two inches off each vegetable into the garbage bin on the floor beneath them.

“I’m just grateful you’ve all agreed to pitch in and help,” Jennie said, her voice sounding a little weary. “Mr. Jones and the Millards have been quite a help to us and I don’t think I would have dared ask them to supper if Barnaby and I had to do it all by ourselves.”

“If you’d let me help…” Kate began from her corner seat, but she fell silent as Jennie fixed her with a stern look.

“We’ve told you to count on us, Miss Jennie,” Dennis Kelly said. He had finished stacking the plates Barnaby had handed him and was now warily transferring crystal goblets.

Jennie leaned back against the warm stove, heedless of her damp dress, and regarded the three men fondly. “I don’t know how we were so lucky to have you three come along just when Kate and I needed friends so badly.”

The skin around Dennis’s muttonchop whiskers turned bright red. “It’s a downright shame how the
people in this town turned their backs on you two girls,” he said, his voice hoarse with indignation. “Why, you’re two of the sweetest little gals we’ve ever known. Right, boys?”

Smitty continued chopping, but Brad turned and said, “Sure as shootin’. Two of the prettiest, too.”

Dennis shot him a look of reproof. “We’ll help you through this. And I’d just like to see that old battleax try to stop us.”

Jennie’s smile broadened. She wouldn’t like to predict the outcome of a showdown between Mrs. Billingsley and her silverheels. Blood might be drawn. “Smitty, I think we have enough—honestly. You can put the rest of those down in the cellar.”

Barnaby handed down the last glass, then jumped to the floor. “When will Mr. Jones be here?” he asked.

Jennie pulled her mother’s silver watch from around her neck. “Goodness! It’s past six already.”

Kate slid off the stool. “Jen, I want you to go upstairs and get washed up. I’ll supervise the rest of this.” She held up a hand as Jennie began to protest. “I won’t make a move. I won’t lift a dish. I’ll just give orders to this handsome crew here.” She indicated the three miners and Barnaby with a smile and a wave of her hand.

Jennie looked doubtful. “Someone needs to drop in the dumplings.”

“I’ll do it,” Dennis offered. “Kate can show me how.”

“And the apple crisp should be done any minute
now. You need to keep watch because that stove burns.”

Kate came up behind her sister and gave her a little shove toward the door. “We’ll handle it. If you don’t hurry on upstairs, you’ll be greeting your guests looking like the scullery maid.”

Jennie took a look down at her bedraggled frock and gave a wail. “I wanted everything to go so well.”

Kate laughed. “I wonder why. Dr. Millard and Dorie have eaten in this house dozens of times. Which means it must be Mr. Jones you want to impress.”

Jennie frowned. “I don’t want to impress anyone. I just feel that we should thank the people who have stood up against the rest of those close-minded—”

Kate gave her a hug and a more forceful push. “Don’t get started, sis. We’re here to have a pleasant evening. So go upstairs and get yourself beautiful.”

Jennie sagged a little against her sister’s arm, which tightened against her. It felt comforting. She took a deep breath and a last look around the kitchen. Most of the meal was ready. Barnaby had disappeared into the dining room with the first of the good plates, which he evidently intended to transport one by one. Kate was right. Everything was in good shape except herself. She leaned over to give her sister a peck on the cheek, then darted out of the kitchen toward the front hall.

Barnaby stood by the front door looking up at her with wide eyes. Behind him was Carter Jones. She gave a little shriek.

“Am I early?” he asked.

Bits of dumpling dough clung to her hands. She
put them behind her back. “No. I’m…ah…late. I mean, I’m not quite ready yet.”

“Shall I come back later?” he asked uncertainly.

“No, of course not.” She wished there was some way to keep his eyes from roving up and down her stained old dress that way. She pushed at the hair that had fallen down her neck, but stopped as she felt it stick to her doughy fingers. “Barnaby, take Mr. Jones into the parlor, please. Then ask Miss Kate to come out and sit with him until I…until I come downstairs.”

His gaze had followed the movement of her hands and seemed to fix on where the tendrils of hair just under her left ear were now stuck to her neck with dough. Jennie could feel the beginning of one of those blushes whose existence she had so recently discovered.

He smiled at her, his gray eyes warming. “I’ll be fine, Jennie,” he said softly. “Take your time.”

She let out a long breath, irritated that her heart refused to slow to anything near normal. With a lift of her chin, she returned his gaze directly and said, “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

Dorie Millard had worn her hair styled in the same blond ringlets framing her face ever since Jennie could remember. She was two years older than Jennie, approaching old-maid status by Vermillion standards, but her single state wasn’t for lack of offers. Jennie reckoned she’d be hard-pressed to find an eligible male in town under the age of fifty who
hadn’t
asked for Dorie’s hand. But the doctor’s breezy daughter
seemed perfectly happy to continue being the unmarried belle of the church ice-cream socials and the harvest dances at the back of the feed mill.

Jennie watched with unusual interest as Dorie turned her sunshiny smile on Carter, waiting for the inevitable male response. But to her surprise, Carter seemed to divide his attention equally among the ladies present. In fact, he addressed just as many comments to Dr. Millard and the silverheels, or at least Dennis. Brad and Smitty weren’t much for conversation.

She wouldn’t admit to herself that she was gratified by Carter’s apparent failure to be charmed by Dorie. After all, it was possible that he was just being polite. He was a politician, used to having to stay on good terms with everyone. With three women at the table, he probably knew enough not to play favorites.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t help noticing that Carter’s eyes followed Jennie herself when she began to help Barnaby clear away the dishes. And while Dorie was in the middle of one of her most vivacious stories, Carter was smiling at Jennie and seemed not to be paying the least attention.

She hummed a little ditty to herself as she went swinging through the door to the kitchen, her arms full of plates.

“The dinner went well, didn’t it?” Barnaby whispered when they were both on the kitchen side of the door. He seemed to sense her good mood.

Jennie smiled. “It certainly did, young man. Thanks to your help.”

Barnaby looked pleased but embarrassed. “I only put out the dishes,” he mumbled into his chest.

“You did a fabulous job.” Jennie reached over to give his small shoulders a squeeze. “You served the meal like a real waiter from the most elegant restaurant in Virginia City.”

He looked up at her with a grin. “Maybe we should open our own eatery. That would give old Pruneface Potter something to really complain about.”

Margaret Potter
did
have something of a prune face. Jennie struggled not to smile, but felt obliged to say, “You shouldn’t talk that way about your teacher, Barnaby.”

The lad shrugged, unchastened. “Shall I spoon out the apple crisp?”

Jennie nodded. “A ladle of cream on each one. I’ll bring the rest of the plates.”

She turned back toward the dining room, still smiling. She could hear Dorie’s merry laugh before the door swung fully open. Her friend was standing directly behind Carter, her hands on either side of his neck, pulling up on his starched collar. “I don’t know how you men stand these things,” she said in a teasing voice. “Why, look…you’re as chafed as a newly saddled bronc. Now would you care to repeat those words about women suffering for vanity?”

Carter looked uncharacteristically embarrassed and had his hands up trying to hold the collar in place as Dorie tried to tug it off. The three miners were grinning, Kate looked mildly shocked and Dr. Millard sat shaking his head at his daughter with a look of longsuffering resignation.

“Miss Millard, I think I’ll keep my ensemble as is, if you don’t mind,” Carter protested.

Dorie laughed again and pushed the four inches of collar back down into the neck of the shirt. “You see, you men suffer for vanity, as well.”

Jennie felt an uneasiness in the pit of her stomach as Dorie’s slender fingers rubbed up and down Carter’s neck. It
was
a bit chafed, she could now see. But it would be hard to imagine him without the snowy-white collar. It seemed almost part of him.

Dorie gave one last stroke to her victim’s neck, then let him go. “We’re not so different—men and women,” she said. “Old and young. Town and country. Everyone likes to think they’re so different, but we’re all human. Deep inside we’re all the same.”

As usual, Dorie’s seemingly frivolous words sank in with surprising weight. Jennie looked over at Kate, who was endorsing Dorie’s observation with a serious nod.

Carter had relaxed his stiffened position and was regarding Dorie with an odd expression. The heightened color was fading from his face. “You may be right about that, Miss Millard,” he said with a glint of admiration in his voice. Jennie’s heart plummeted. Another conquest. How did Dorie manage?

The happiness she’d felt in the kitchen with Barnaby had disappeared. With a strained smile she took the plates from in front of Dennis and Brad and turned toward the kitchen.

Dorie was still on her feet. “Shall I help you with those, Jennie?” she asked. It was impossible to be resentful of Dorie, in spite of her ability to turn the
head of any male she wished. She was simply too much fun and too nice to dislike.

“Sit back down and entertain the folks, Dorie,” Jennie said with a little laugh. “Barnaby and I will bring in the sweets directly.” She looked back at the group over her shoulder. “How many want coffee?”

When every male voice answered in the affirmative, Carter pushed back his chair and said, “She’s right. You must continue to provide the entertainment, Miss Millard. I’ll help Miss Sheridan with the coffee.”

The three miners looked over at Carter with surprise. It appeared that the stiff public prosecutor had had more than his collar loosened.

Jennie hesitated, then finally said, “All right. I’d appreciate a hand.” She continued on into the kitchen, her arms just a little shaky from the heavy plates.

Carter was right behind her. “Miss Millard is quite a debater,” he said softly, for her ears only. “She should consider a career in politics.”

“Some folks in this town might say she already practices her own special brand of politics,” Jennie said dryly.

“Politicking with the men in town?”

“With the eligible ones, at least. Dorie wouldn’t make time with someone else’s husband, but every other male out of short pants is pretty much fair game.”

Carter grinned as he stacked the dirty dishes he carried on top of the pile. “Do I detect a note of
jealousy, Miss Sheridan? I thought you two were friends.”

“We are friends. And I’m certainly not jealous of her. In order to be jealous, I would have to care about making time with the men in town myself.”

“Which you don’t,” Carter clarified with an amused smile.

“No, sir.”

“Is this enough cream, Jennie?” Barnaby interrupted their exchange by stepping between them holding out a bowl of apple crisp.

Jennie gave the boy a grateful smile. What was it about talking with Carter Jones that made the breath stick in her throat? “That’s just perfect, Barnaby. You can begin taking them out to the dining room. Remember to serve the ladies first.”

Barnaby drew himself up proudly and marched toward the door, holding the bowl of crisp like a tournament trophy. Jennie’s smile turned tender. Their little foundling was always so eager to please.

Carter appeared to read her thoughts. “He glows like a lightning bug when you pay him a compliment.”

Jennie nodded. “You should have seen him when he first came here. He was so shy that he could hardly utter a sentence. He used to hang back in the shadows hoping no one would notice him.”

An odd expression flickered across Carter’s face, but after a moment, he smiled and said, “He’s learning fast. He had no problem with shyness the other day when he was barricading the door against me.”

Jennie nodded. “He’s grown very protective of Kate and me. It’s quite touching.”

Carter tipped his head in the direction of the dining room. “You seem to have a room full of protectors out there.”

Jennie laughed. “I guess we do. The miners are great. They even helped with the dinner tonight.”