Chances (23 page)

Lavinia patted his arm. “That wouldn’t be very good for you, would it?”

“No, ma’am.” The way she’d stacked things against him, the little busybody would pass the damned test and he’d be out another good job. Ain’t no way she was gonna do that to him. His jaw quivered and he reminded himself there was a lady present. “What was it you heard?”

Lavinia lowered her eyelashes. “You know, Frank, she tried to take over my suffrage association. Can you imagine that?” She smiled and patted his arm again. “Thank goodness you had shared that bit of information about those solicitation wires.”

“Damned interfering little nobody sure does seem to be crowding her way into things.”

“Did you take my advice, Frank, about those wires she tossed away?”

He thought about the thick bundle he’d retrieved from the trash, all on gut instinct, and how Lavinia had gushed with praise when he’d told her. They were all tucked away in a lock box, up in his room, just in case, just like Lavinia had advised. “Sure did.”

“Good.” Lavinia bobbed her head in satisfaction, her severe black bun acting as an exclamation point.

Frank waited, on the edge of his seat, while she reached for another bite of liver. “Dagnabbit, Lavinia!” He pounded the table for emphasis. “You gonna tell me or not?”

Lavinia straightened in her chair and glanced about the room. “Don’t make a scene, Frank. It won’t do.”

He followed her gaze. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Still, he figured he might have overstepped a little. Lavinia didn’t much like it when a man spoke his mind. She liked her men strong, but not so strong that folks forgot about her. “I’m sorry, Lavinia,” he said.

“I forgive you, Frank. I think I know how you feel, after all she tried to take from me. I’d like to see her gone, you know. Before she tries it again.”

Frank nodded in solemn agreement. Lavinia had been upset ever since Donovan had come to town and started horning in on things at the suffrage movement. Getting rid of the bitch would win him Lavinia’s heart for sure. Ruining him from two fronts was just about more than he could handle, anyway.

Lavinia moved toward him, glancing furtively at the diners who had drifted to the parlor. “Frank Bates, you’re not going to let that upstart take your job, are you?” she whispered.

“Hell no.” He pounded the table in defiance.

“I didn’t think so. That’s why I thought you’d like to know what I heard.” Lavinia lowered her voice further. “She was out today, with the undertaker, Petterman. They were out on the creek, down on the ice, in broad daylight, with him all over her and her driving him on. Very improper, very nasty, Frank.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. I think that confirms her reputation, don’t you? I’d consider acting on that rumor we discussed a few weeks back, the one about her and the stationmaster.”

“It’s all true then, what I was thinkin’?”

“Oh, my dear Frank, I’m afraid it is.” Lavinia shoved another onion into her mouth and sucked it in with slow deliberation. “Wouldn’t things be so much easier for both of us if she were out of Denver entirely?”

Frank nodded, afraid to trust his voice.

Lavinia touched his cheek with her hand. “Then I can depend on you?”

He nodded again. “I’ll do what ever it takes.”

Chapter Fourteen

Daniel sat in the empty parlor, listening to the evening wind knock against the side of the house. In the kitchen, his daughters’ voices mingled with clinking dinner dishes.

In the silence, his father’s voice echoed with unwanted chastisement. His stern face intruded, as it had throughout the day, to offer yet another reminder that polite society frowned on public displays of affection.

No one cared. The earth did not swallow me up and heaven did not rage with fury. Go away.

In fact, no one had said a thing. Well, no one except Bill, who had popped into the coffin shop to convey the suggestion that it was about time Daniel loosened up a little. In the cafe during lunch, a couple of old ladies had whispered together, offering half-hidden smiles whenever they looked at him, but no one had berated him for having loose morals or for making a spectacle of himself.

Kissing a gal while tangled up on the ice
-
covered creek did not seem to be the sin he’d been led to believe it was.

Daniel rose and crossed to the mantle. He picked up his father’s framed picture. The Reverend Ebenezer Petterman’s dour countenance peered out of the hinged, gold-encased tintype.

Go away, old man. I kissed her and she laughed and we got up and had fun.
Daniel snapped the tintype shut.

 He’d had enough fun that he’d agreed when the girls suggested inviting Sarah over this evening to play board games. Enough fun that he’d invited Bill and Libby to join them. Enough fun that he was considering telling old Ebenezer that he might very well play something else besides The Mansion of Happiness
.
He might even open the reverend’s picture for it.

Except it was the only game in the house, a tired version of the sole game approved for Petterman use, a worn-out board whose faded squares featured virtues and vices. The vices, of course, brought punishment to the lonely pawns who worked their way around the spiral path seeking only the rewards of virtue.

 “The girls are just putting things away, Mr. Petterman. If you’ve nothing more for me, I’d best wrap up and head home.” Mrs. Winifred stood in the arched doorway, waiting.

Daniel nodded to the housekeeper. “Bundle up. The wind’s nasty.

“Always is, this time of year.” She lifted her wraps from the coat tree, then disappeared down the hall and into the kitchen. Moments later, the back door clicked shut.

The clatter of dishes continued in the wake of Mrs. Winifred’s exit. On the front stoop, someone stomped his feet, and Daniel moved across the parlor and into the foyer in anticipation of the knock. He swung open the door to a gust of cold air and the wind-reddened faces of Sarah and the Byers.

“Mighty cold out here, Daniel. You order up this wind?”

“Been here since before me, and you know it, though I can’t quite figure how it stays so cold with all your hot air.”

Bill chuckled as he waited for the women to enter, then stepped inside and shut the door. “Figured maybe it was the frost from those body coolers you use out in the shop. ‘Course, maybe you forgot to bring home the ice yesterday, being preoccupied as you were.”

Sarah’s face colored, sending a brief warmth coursing through Daniel’s veins.

Then Libby gave Bill a playful slap, breaking the moment, and the group pulled off their assorted wraps. Kate and Molly emerged from the kitchen, Molly’s eager chatter joining the mix. Kate slipped into the role of hostess, hanging up coats and shawls before finessing the group into the parlor.

Sarah and Libby settled into the floral side chairs while the girls perched on tasseled ottomans.

Bill stood, eying the game Daniel had placed on the polished oval table. “The Mansion of Happiness?”

Discomfort crept over Daniel. “It’s … uh …”

“It’s the only game we have,” Molly announced.

“You couldn’t even update to the Game of Life?”

“Bill—” Libby cautioned.

“I don’t mean to insult you, but I haven’t seen anybody play this game since I was a kid. I s’pose you play it by the book?”

Daniel felt a grin creep across his face. He pointed to a small, cloth-covered booklet of moral verses lying next to the game board.

Bill grinned back and shook his head.

“Why don’t we just have some cocoa and Bill and Libby can update us on the new water system progress,” Sarah said, from her side chair. Her big violet eyes lit her face with hope.

“Sounds fine to us, doesn’t it Bill?”

Daniel cleared his throat and shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Oh, no, you don’t.”

“What?” Sarah lifted her eyebrows with the question and Daniel fought to keep from laughing at her mock innocence.

“You know what. This is purely social. No causes.”

Libby’s face tilted in confusion, and Bill glanced from one of them to the other. Obviously, Sarah hadn’t told them anything about the challenge during their walk over.

“Papa, you and Sarah should go to the kitchen and bring out the cocoa. Molly and I already put it on the stove. I think we need to explain the dare to Mr. and Mrs. Byers.”

Daniel glanced at Sarah and shrugged his shoulders.

Sarah shrugged back. “You heard her.” She rose from the side chair and moved toward the kitchen. Her tiny figure slipped through the doorway, and Daniel followed.

In the kitchen, Sarah’s efficient footsteps filled the room with quick clicks. Her dark green skirt swung on her hips as she moved away. The fabric was pulled back so that it draped at the rear but clung at the front and sides, moving with each step she took. Daniel smiled, pleased at the lack of large bustle.

She turned and caught him staring. “What?”

“I like the dress.”

She blushed again, just a hint of pink filling her cheeks. “It’s new. They called it a tie-back.”

“It’s flattering.” He watched her turn away, avoiding the compliment, and it dawned on him that she didn’t get too many of them. In fact, she seemed to go out of her way to hide her beauty. His heart stirred with an unexpected need to know more. “You don’t do that very often, do you?”

“Do what?”

“Buy yourself something new.”

“No.” Her hands paused in their busy collection of spoons from the silverware drawer.

“Why?”

“Fancy clothes make me disappear.” The words came out so softly that he could barely hear her.

“What?” Daniel cringed at the incredulity in his voice.

Sarah busied her hands again, rummaging through the silver. “Nothing,” she said.

Waves of disbelief rumbled through him. “How could looking like that make you disappear?”

“Never mind.” She slammed the drawer shut.

“You think people will miss you for the clothes? Who told you a fool thing like that?”

Sarah dropped the spoons on the counter with a clatter and turned to him. “Why are we talking about this?”

He stared at her, unable to stop himself, and struggled to contain his sharp response. He didn’t want to start an argument with her. He softened his voice, steering it between his anger and any trace of pity. “Because it matters.”

She shook her head. “No, Daniel, it doesn’t.”

He smiled at her, unsure of what to do next. If he reached out to her, would she run? She was so different from Mary. Always predictable in her gentle way, Mary had never seemed unsure or in need of anything, except molding him. He swallowed hard, acknowledging his own need to soothe Sarah’s discomfort.

He laid a pile of napkins next to the spoons, the casual action conveying none of the concern he felt. “Is that why you always wear that infernal brown skirt? So people will see you and not your clothes?” He turned and caught her gaze, wanting to touch her but afraid she’d misinterpret the action. “This isn’t part of what you said yesterday, is it?” He softened his voice. “Did someone make you feel you didn’t matter?”

Sarah’s eyes clouded and she drew a shaky breath. Then, she laughed and the moment slipped away. “You, Daniel, are getting touched in the head and it doesn’t become you. That cocoa needs tending or it’s going to have such a film on it that it will take you years to skim it off. Go and stir.”

Daniel gave the hot chocolate a swirl then turned to watch Sarah. She reached for ivory mugs, aligned above her in a perfect row on the cupboard shelf. The cloth of her bodice pulled across her breasts, and her thighs tightened as she rose on her tiptoes.

Yeah, he liked the dress, the way it clung to her curves. But, hell, he liked the rest, too, the sass and intelligence, all rolled up together with those big violet eyes and silky blond hair. And he liked the soft vulnerability she tried so hard to hide underneath it all.

His heart clambering, he reminded himself of the group waiting in the other room. He sighed and fought the maddening urge to step to her, slide his hands along those curves, and show her how desirable she was. Deep down, he knew the moment wasn’t right, not with her skittish as the kittens down the alley. He removed the cocoa from the stove and focused on filling the mugs Sarah had placed on the counter.

In silent tandem, Sarah shifted the filled mugs to a silver tray, then led the way back to the parlor.

“Well, now we know what possessed the two of you to go ice skating,” Libby teased from across the room.

“And we’ve decided on this evening’s activities.”

Daniel glanced at his friend. The oval table in front of him was bare, the faded Mansion of Happiness game on the floor under the sofa, its morals clearly no longer welcome. Above the table, Bill’s face was filled with a devilish grin.

“No more prim and proper. We’re playing charades.”

“Charades is improper?”

“Hush up, Sarah, you know what I meant. Shoving a bunch of markers around a painted board just reeks of boredom. Something a little more lively seems the ticket, wouldn’t you say, Libby?”

“Bill’s right. Besides, Daniel knows full well that playing a proper moral game doesn’t satisfy the challenge. And before you know it, Sarah and I would be knee-deep into discussing causes. Kate and Molly tell us Daniel finds charades undignified and I suspect Sarah doesn’t have time for such whimsy.” Libby raised her eyebrows at the two of them. “Hah, I’m right and you know it.” She smiled in triumph and explained the rules of the game.

Daniel glanced at Sarah. It was a game devoid of purpose and the dubious wrinkle of her mouth told him she was not comfortable. His thoughts drifted to the reverend and he felt a smile tip his lips. He was no doubt going to look like an ass, but it wouldn’t matter. Not when the amusement lit Sarah’s pretty face and laughter filled those vibrant eyes. Self-indulgence, Ebenezer would say. But this time, Daniel figured he might just refuse to stand in the corner.

* * * * *

Frank Bates waited, drumming his fingers, at a corner table in the deserted Broadwell House dining room. The place wasn’t fancy, but it was clean, and Frank was more comfortable in its homey surroundings than in the more elaborate restaurants of the larger hotels, even if Uncle Walter hated the place. He checked his pocket watch. Uncle Walter was late, as usual. A tinge of resentment nagged at him.