Beautiful Bad Man (6 page)

The two of them had an answer to every one of Norah’s objections. She didn’t exactly agree with their plan, but she began to feel swept away by the inevitability of it.

The three women worked in the kitchen together, getting dinner on the table, while chatting about the wedding. Mabel and Becky both shed a few tears over how their lives would change when Becky moved to town with her new husband, who had proposed the day after he landed a job managing Hubbell’s railroad station.

The Carbury men filed into the house for dinner and greeted Norah without surprise. Unlike Becky, who was in all ways a younger version of her mother, the four Carbury sons all showed their father’s influence in their dark hair, gray eyes, and thickly-muscled, sturdy bodies. None of them stood more than average height, but Norah had never seen another man challenge Archie or his oldest boys.

Maybe Ben, the only one of the boys younger than Becky, would become like his brothers by the time he got his full growth, but so far he seemed more like his loquacious, enthusiastic sister. He often made Norah laugh.

The conversation stayed focused on the wedding and Becky’s new life until Mabel remembered the oatmeal bread.

“Enough about us and the wedding,” she said. “You promised us a story.”

Norah had decided on the whole story except for a few details about the visit from Preston and his men and how nasty her conversation with Sutton had turned at the end.

At first Mabel and Becky interrupted with exclamations and questions, but before long the whole Carbury clan sat silent around the table, listening.

“So that’s why I could bake oatmeal bread,” Norah finished. “At least for a few more weeks, I’m eating as well as Mr. Van Cleve. In fact I suspect I’m eating his food and burning his wood.”

Her audience came out of its collective trance and began reaching for coffee cups, finishing the last of their slices of oatmeal bread.

“I can’t believe it,” Mabel said finally. “One of Van Cleve’s men, I mean. They don’t look like the kind who feel obligations the way ordinary folks do, much less try to repay.”

“Well, this one does,” Norah said. “Of course he didn’t give a hoot how I felt about it. He decided what he wanted to do and did it.”

Less curious and more prosaic than his womenfolk, Archie said, “So you have provisions and you’re safe from Van Cleve for a while. How are you going to get by when what he gave you runs out? You don’t want his kind hanging around. Once we get you to town, you stay there. Sell out to Van Cleve and you can live on that long enough to find yourself a good man.”

Archie Carbury didn’t usually hand out unsolicited advice, and Norah wished he hadn’t bothered this time. For one thing, there was no chance at all of Caleb Sutton hanging around. He’d probably turn in the other direction and put spurs to his horse if he saw her again.

For another — “Joe hasn’t even been gone three months. I’m not looking to remarry so soon, maybe ever.”

“You should be,” Archie said, getting to his feet with a grunt. “If Becky here can find someone to put up with her, so can you. You’re still a young woman.”

With that he led the parade of his sons back to work.

After washing dishes and putting the kitchen to rights, silent except for a few words about the chores, the three women sat at the table with cups of coffee and shared the last of the oatmeal bread.

“There’s nothing for me in town,” Norah said. “I don’t want to sell to the man who killed Joe, I don’t want to live in town, and I don’t want another husband.”

Mabel patted her hand. “I understand, but what can you do? Archie’s right, you know.”

Archie’s rightness was one of the pillars of Mabel’s existence, and Norah had to admit Archie was no fool.

Becky’s face lit up with excitement, and she set her cup down so hard Norah looked to see if it or the saucer had broken. Oblivious to Norah’s concern or her mother’s tsk of disapproval, Becky said, “I know. I know what you can do.”

Her face fell as fast as it had lit up. “Oh, except you wouldn’t want to. No one would I guess.”

“What could I do that I wouldn’t want to do?” Norah asked.

“Ethan told me Mrs. Tindell is looking for a housekeeper again. They’re taking bets in town how long a new one will last.”

Mabel gathered their plates and cups and slid them in the wash pan. “That’s why no one would want to do it. She’s been through half a dozen girls that I know of and not one of them was good enough for her. She works them to death and complains day and night they don’t do anything right. You know at least some of those girls were good workers. If you don’t want to marry again so soon, we can find you something else.”

“Like what,” Norah said. “A job working in Mr. Tindell’s saloon instead of his house? He never — bothered the girls who worked at the house, did he?”

“Heavens, no. He’s as afraid of that mean old woman as anyone else. She’s the problem, not him or the sons.”

“Did you ever wonder if part of the problem is that he owns the saloon?” Norah said. “Sometimes I think that people resent the way she acts so, so superior when he makes his money from whiskey and gambling and....”

“And women,” Becky filled in gleefully, earning another disapproving glance from her mother.

“Sure that’s why people think she’s got no right to act so la di da,” Mabel said, “but that doesn’t make her any less of a witch.”

“I wonder how much she pays. If I could stand it for a few months, it would be spring, and I’d have some cash money. I don’t want to sell to the man who murdered Joe to get our land.”

The three of them spent the rest of the day and the evening discussing nothing but Becky’s upcoming wedding and Norah’s possibilities. The next morning Archie and his oldest son drove Norah home in their wagon and helped her pack up everything in the soddy.

She rode to Hubbell wedged in the wagon between Mabel and Becky only after every one of the Carburys promised that if she wanted to come home after the wedding, they would bring her home.

If Caleb Sutton knew how to laugh, he’d probably laugh at having turned her life upside down so thoroughly.

She wondered how long it would be before she knew whether she should curse him or thank him, not that she’d ever have a chance to do either.

A
S SOON AS
the railroad had come, Hubbell had started to grow, but the Tindell house was unique in the town. Norah gave it a good looking over from the street before approaching.

Three stories high, dripping with ornate trim, the house was a tribute to ostentation. Norah’s concern was with the size of the thing, which she knew she’d be expected to keep spotless. Housekeeper was simply Mrs. Tindell’s idea of a more impressive term for maid.

Becky’s new husband had already reported that so far as anyone in town knew, Mrs. Tindell hadn’t replaced her last unfortunate girl. Betting on the new employee’s staying power, whoever she turned out to be, continued unabated.

Norah learned that the job included room and board and a small salary, but no one could tell her what kind of room or how much salary.

The house sat back from the road on a large lot surrounded by an iron fence with spiked pickets to keep riffraff out. Probably she should go around to the back, but she wasn’t hired help yet.

Squaring her shoulders, she marched through the front gate. The brass horse head knocker on the carved front door winked at her. Examining it closely, Norah could see that polish would fix the eyes so they matched, but she wasn’t going to be the one to point that out.

A girl in a gray dress covered by a large white apron answered the door. Norah backed up a step and almost fell off the porch.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I came about the housekeeper’s job. I didn’t know the position was taken.”

The girl reached out and fastened a hand like a steel trap on Norah’s arm, pulling her inside.

“It’s not taken,” she said with an Irish lilt. “Mr. Tindell all but threatened my da to get me to work here a few hours a day, and if you’ve come to save me, I’ll pray for you every day for the rest of me life, I will.”

Norah swallowed hard. “It’s that bad then? Does she pay, though?”

“She’s the devil draped in silk, she is, but she pays what she promises.”

Steps sounded on the polished wood floor behind them, and the girl dropped her voice to a whisper.

“You wait here. I’ll tell her about you, and she’ll have me escorting you to the parlor like she’s a queen and can’t walk out here.”

The girl disappeared, and Norah stared around the hall at the ornate furniture and papered walls. Housekeeping here would certainly be different than in a dirt-floored soddy that measured sixteen feet by twenty and was home to a thriving insect population and the occasional snake in summer and generations of mice all year round.

After a wait that proved she was in the riffraff category, Norah followed the Irish girl to the dragon’s lair. Seated at an elegant desk in front of the room’s tall windows, Mrs. Tindell appeared more frail than frightening.

A second, more careful appraisal hinted at a spine of steel keeping her slender form so rigidly straight. Light brown hair framed delicate features, but none of the lines in her face came from smiling, and the gray eyes held no warmth.

Norah stopped a few feet in front of the desk. She was not invited to sit.

“Mary tells me you’ve come about the housekeeper’s position,” Mrs. Tindell said in an unexpectedly deep voice. “She forgot to get your name of course.”

Of course.
Norah reminded herself that she owned more than three hundred acres of good farmland and could go back to it tomorrow if she wanted.

“I’m Norah Gifford Hawkins, ma’am. My husband was killed three months ago, and yes, I’ve come to see about the housekeeper’s position.”

Norah answered a string of increasingly personal questions politely, then asked one of her own the first time Mrs. Tindell paused long enough.

“Before we go further, I’d like to know the terms of employment with you, Mrs. Tindell.”

The woman looked offended. “The terms are of no concern to you unless I decide to employ you.”

Norah nodded. “I understand. I’m sure you have other more qualified applicants.”

She turned as if to leave, amazed at her own nerve, but she’d had enough of questions that were none of this woman’s business.

“Wait.”

Norah stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

“Room and board and ten dollars a month. Sunday and Wednesday afternoons free after serving luncheon to the family.”

Ten dollars! No wonder the woman worked people like slaves. For that Norah would even polish the wink out of the brass horse’s eye.

She turned around and gave an imitation of Caleb Sutton’s smile. When she rejoined the Carburys and Butlers, she’d celebrate. Until then nothing mattered except getting the best terms possible.

“That sounds reasonable,” she said, “depending, of course, on what is expected.”

Becky had married for better or worse. By day’s end, Norah was employed and feeling the same way about it.

E
VERY DAY HE
spent with Preston and his men increased Cal’s desire to quit. He didn’t like Preston, didn’t like Van Cleve, and didn’t like the work. Packing up, saddling up, and riding into Hubbell to catch a train west sounded better every day.

Trouble was every time he decided tomorrow would be the day, the image of Preston dancing his horse over Norah Hawkins rose in his mind. Finding out the Girl had turned into a woman like that had been a bitter disappointment, but leaving her to Preston’s tender mercies didn’t sit right.

The fact he had that feeling in the first place and couldn’t make it go away in the second place annoyed him no end.

Van Cleve solved the problem by summoning Cal to his study again. This time Cal took the indicated chair, but he still accepted the glass of whiskey with his left hand. The rancher’s approach was no longer affable. He stayed behind his desk and got straight to the point.

“Preston tells me you’ve been visiting the Hawkins woman. He says you used one of my wagons and took her a load of my wood.”

Cal sipped at the whiskey, enjoying the warmth it spread in his veins. “He must be a spy of the first water. I did that all right.”

“So. Am I going to get my money’s worth? Will she sell?”

“No. She knows you had her husband killed. Maybe somebody could hurt her bad enough to make her sign a paper, but I’m not even sure of that.”

Van Cleve slammed his glass down so hard whiskey spilled over the polished surface of the desk. “I didn’t kill her husband. I told you. I don’t give those kind of orders.”

Cal took another swallow, letting silence speak for him.

Van Cleve leaned forward, wagging an index finger. “I don’t care if you knew her back when, no more helping her hold out by giving her ranch property. When you draw pay from me, you ride for the brand. From now on Preston deals with the woman, and you stay away from her. What’s more, I’m taking the cost of the wood out of your pay.”

One last swallow emptied his glass. Cal turned it in his hand a moment as if giving the matter serious thought. “That sounds fair,” he said finally. “Maybe I’m wrong and Preston can convince her.”

No one waited for him outside this time. Howling wind drove icy flakes of snow against his face like flying needles. As soon as the weather cleared, he’d discuss Norah Hawkins and the price of wood with Van Cleve in more detail.

T
HE WIND RAGED,
driving sleet and snow before it on and off for days. Cal walked out of the bunkhouse on the first clear morning and looked over the landscape with a critical eye. Bright sun had already melted away shallow snow cover in open areas scoured by the wind. Another day or two like this, and even the deepest drifts would be gone.

After filling his belly with V Bar C breakfast, Cal left the rest of the crew discussing the day’s work over a last cup of coffee, packed what little he had brought with him in his bedroll and saddlebags and caught up his horse.