Love in Disguise (34 page)

The offer held him in place even more effectively than her fingers had. He stared up at her with a look of awe. “What do I get to do? Shoot someone for real?”

“Heavens, no!” Her voice came out in a squeal, far louder than she intended. She looked around and lowered her voice. “Nothing like that. I just want you to keep an eye on someone for me. Do you think you can do that?”

Billy shrugged. “Sure. I’m good at watching people, especially when they don’t think I’m around. Who do you want me to spy on?”

Ellie eyed him, wondering if she’d just taken leave of her senses. “Do you know Marvin Long? He’s—”

“The one who got beat up at the Busted Shovel yesterday? Sure, I know him.” Billy’s face darkened. “He doesn’t like kids much. He caught me pokin’ around the mine office one day and threatened to box my ears if he ever saw me there again.”

A look of doubt spread over his features. “You just want me to watch him? That’s all?”

“That’s all,” Ellie said firmly.

“Why? Are you sweet on him or something?”

Ellie bit back another yelp. “Not at all. I just want you to let me know if you see him doing anything suspicious.”

Billy wrinkled his nose. “Like what?”

Ellie cast about for some explanation vague enough to cover all the possibilities but not so specific it would give her true purpose away. “Like if you see him somewhere he isn’t supposed to be. Trying to get into a locked building—anything like that.”

The boy’s face lit up. “You
are
sweet on him. You want me to make sure he isn’t visiting some other girl, right?”

Ellie resisted the urge to pick him up by his collar and give him a good shake. “Don’t worry about why I want to know. The only thing you need to remember is to let me know if you see him sneaking around or doing something he shouldn’t. And make sure no one sees you, especially him.”

She held out her hand. “What do you say?”

Billy crossed his arms. “What’s in it for me?”

Ellie bit back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips, saying instead, “A detective who does an extra-good job deserves a bonus. What would you say to a nickel for any information you can bring me about Mr. Long?”

Billy stared at her for a long moment, then spit in his palm and clasped it against hers. “A whole nickel? Lady, you got yourself a deal.”

26

T
hanks for getting to these drills so quickly, Jake. I’ll be back in a couple of days for the next set.” Steven hefted the canvas satchel of sharpened steels in one hand and set off toward the Redemption. Normally he would have spent a few minutes chatting with the blacksmith, but the other man’s interest in Jessie made it difficult for him to make pleasant conversation.

Sunlight glinted in a brilliant blue sky, brightening his mood. In spite of all his troubles of late, days like this made him glad to be alive. Just before he turned down Sixth, he spotted a familiar figure two blocks down the street. He pulled up short and grinned.

True to form, Lavinia Stewart was out making her morning rounds. Steven’s admiration for the woman soared. Narrowly escaping the collapse in his mine, nearly being trampled by a team of horses, then learning those events might have been aimed specifically at her—all that was enough to send most easterners into hiding . . . or running for the nearest train station. But not his Mrs. Stewart.

He was going to do everything he could to keep her out of the line of fire, including spreading the word she was no longer considering investing in his mine, but she had come west in search of adventure, and she was proving herself up to the challenge.

Steven tugged at the brim of his hat and turned his steps toward her. He crossed the street with an easy stride, angling his course to meet her where she was admiring a gown with an abundance of pleats and lace in the dressmaker’s window.

“Good morning.”

Mrs. Stewart jumped and whirled around. For a fleeting moment Steven saw a flash of panic in her eyes and immediately regretted startling her. Considering all that had transpired in recent days, it probably hadn’t been the wisest thing to do.

The look of alarm fled as quickly as it appeared, replaced by her usual placid smile. “Good morning to you, Mr. Pierce. I’m just out enjoying the morning air.”

“I had a couple of errands to run.” Steven lifted the satchel in his hand, then set it at his feet. He pushed his hat back on his head and moistened his lips. “I haven’t seen Jessie around town since the fire. Is she doing all right?”

Mrs. Stewart shifted a quick glance to her right, then met his gaze again. “She’s been out and about every day. You must have missed her.”

Steven’s lips tightened. “I must have.” He spoke the words in a noncommittal tone that belied the tension he felt.

Had Jessie been avoiding him? Their last contact had been the brush of his lips against hers just before he raced back to fight the fire. At that time it had seemed like the right thing to do, but he’d wondered ever since if he’d crossed an invisible line and pushed too far, too quickly.

He shoved his hands into his front pockets. “Do you have any idea where I might find her now? I stopped by the house a little while ago, but no one answered when I knocked.”

“Oh dear.” Mrs. Stewart fanned herself with her hand. “I suppose she may have been resting, or . . . otherwise occupied.”

Heat flamed in Steven’s cheeks. He needed to drop that line of questioning before he embarrassed either one of them any further. He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should talk to you, then. Would you mind relaying a question to her?”

“No, not at all.”

“I just learned there’s a theatrical company touring the territory. They’ll be performing at Pickford Hall on Friday night, and I wondered if Jessie might like to accompany me.”

Mrs. Stewart’s mouth rounded in a way that reminded him of Jessie’s expression when surprised. He hastened to add, “I didn’t mean to exclude you. If you’d like to join us, I’d be pleased to escort you both.”

For the first time since he’d met her, Lavinia Stewart seemed at a loss for words. Her mouth opened and closed without making a sound, and her blue-green eyes darted back and forth as though seeking an answer from an unseen source.

Finally she looked straight at him and drew a deep breath. “I don’t believe I will be able to attend, but I’m sure my niece would welcome the opportunity to spend the evening with you.”

The day seemed to brighten even more. Steven tried to rein in his spiraling spirits before they got out of hand. “I’m glad to hear that. Do you think I should consult Jessie herself, though, just to make sure?”

Mrs. Stewart’s smile softened. “I know my niece very well, Mr. Pierce. I’m certain she’ll be happy to go to the theater with you, and I hope the two of you will have a lovely time together.”

Steven wanted to drive his fist into the air and let out a loud whoop. Instead, he contented himself with saying, “I’ll be looking forward to it. It isn’t often we get a troupe from Chicago in our neck of the woods. Would you please tell her I’ll come by to pick her up at seven?”

With a tip of his hat, he picked up his satchel and made his way back to the Redemption. Even the weight of the heavy drill steels couldn’t keep him from feeling as if he were walking on air.

Ellie turned back to the dressmaker’s window and watched the reflection of Steven’s retreating back in the glass.
Chicago?
What had she done? Maybe she should call him back and tell him she’d made a mistake. It would be foolish to take the chance of running into someone she knew.

She tossed her anxiety aside with a petulant shrug. No one in Chicago had ever seen her as Jessie, so she was in no danger of being exposed. There was no reason at all to avoid going.

Except for the possible damage to her heart.

On the other hand, if her heart was going to be broken anyway, how much more broken could it be? This was not some amateur group thrown together by Althea Baldwin and her church ladies. An evening at Pickford Hall would bring her into contact with the professional theater again. And with Steven as her escort, what could be better?

She studied her reflection and gave a little nod. She would do it. Once she moved on to other investigations, she would still have the memory of one perfect evening to cherish. Tucking that bittersweet knowledge away, she started walking toward the mercantile.

“Miz Stewart!”

Oh no.
Ellie closed her eyes. When she opened them, she saw Amos Crawford trotting across the street toward her.

She forced her lips into what she hoped would pass as a smile. “Good morning, Mr. Crawford.”

“Mornin’, ma’am. I need to talk to you.”

Ellie peered at him curiously. Something about him seemed different this morning. After a moment, she realized what it was. For once, the telegrapher wasn’t looking at her with calf-eyed longing.

Intrigued at the change in spite of herself, she nodded. “Go on.”

Amos swallowed and ran his finger around his collar. “About those flowers I brought you.”

Ellie’s defenses went up again, and she edged half a step to the right. “Yes, they were lovely. Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness.”

Amos looked down at the boardwalk and shuffled his feet. “It’s kind of a funny thing. You’re never going to believe it.”

For someone about to tell a humorous story, he seemed remarkably ill at ease. He looked more like an accused criminal about to spill out a confession.

“It seems Miz Baldwin—Althea—got wind of me bringing them to you.” Amos smoothed the top of his balding head with one hand.

“Yes?” With an effort, Ellie refrained from tapping her foot. The man seemed to be going in circles and was not getting anywhere.

“Well, it turns out she’s had her eye on me for a long time.” He pushed out his chest and pulled in his stomach a fraction of an inch. “Sort of an infatuation, you might call it.”

Ellie blinked. She had met Althea only a few times, but she had always seemed like a woman in full possession of her faculties. “Do tell.”

“Yes, ma’am, that’s the gospel truth. When she heard about me bringing you those flowers, it lit a fire under her, so to speak, and she started in to wooing me.”

“Wooing?”

“That’s right. Before I knew it, she was bringing me cakes and pies, asking me over for Sunday dinner.” A dreamy look came over his face, and he smacked his lips. “My, that woman can cook.”

His smile faded, and he looked at Ellie again. “I want to tell you straight out that I’ve proposed and Althea has accepted me. We’re going to get married at the end of the month.”

Ellie’s mind reeled at the news. “How nice for you. My congratulations to you both.”

Amos reached out and touched her shoulder briefly. “You don’t have to put up a brave front, Miz Stewart. I’m afraid I may have given you false hopes, and I want you to know I feel bad about it.”

Relief made Ellie’s knees weak. “Oh no. Don’t give it another—”

“No, a man’s gotta take responsibility for his actions, and I intend to own up to mine. I just don’t want you to think I’m the kind of man who’s only interested in flittin’ from flower to flower and breakin’ hearts. I am—”

Ellie cut off the flow of words with a wave of her hand. “Mr. Crawford, I can truthfully say I would never take you for that type of scoundrel. You and Mrs. Baldwin have my blessing, and I wish only the best for your future together.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “That’s mighty fine of you, ma’am. Mighty fine. I always knew you were the kind of woman a man would be lucky to have beside him.”

His eyes took on a wistful gleam. “When I think of what might have been . . . maybe I—”

“No.” Ellie injected the word with all the firmness at her command. “Put those thoughts out of your mind, Mr. Crawford. Make it a clean break. You owe it to yourself and your future bride.”

Over his shoulder, she could see the subject of their conversation walking toward the telegraph office, a covered tray in her hands. “Look! There she is now.”

Amos turned, and his face lit up. “She’s bringin’ me lunch. What a woman.” With the spryness of a much younger man, he loped across the street toward his lady love, apparently consigning Lavinia to the past forever.

Thank heaven.
Ellie watched the pair greet each other and go inside the office.

At least one romance had gone right in Pickford.

27

C
heviot—my husband—my own old love—if the devotion of a lifetime can atone for the misery of the last few days, it is yours, with every wifely sentiment of pride, gratitude, admiration, and love.’ ”

“ ‘My own! My own! Tender blossom of my budding hopes! Star of my life! Essence of happiness! Tree upon which the fruit of my heart is growing! My Past, my Present, my To Come!’ ”

Thunderous applause roared from the seats of Pickford Hall as Cheviot embraced Miss Treherne, Minnie comforted Belvawney, Angus offered solace to Maggie, and the final curtain rang down on the evening’s performance of W.S. Gilbert’s
Engaged.
The clamor swelled to an even greater volume, and the red velvet curtains rose again, allowing the members of the company to bask in the adulation of the audience once more.