The moment Corbet and Jodee drove away at two o’clock, Avinelle turned from the parlor window. She wanted to put her fist through it. “When she’s around, he doesn’t even see me.”
Her mother seized her arm and pushed her toward the staircase. “We do not have much time.”
Avinelle stumbled up the stairs with her mother prodding her. “What’re we doing up here?” She followed her mother into the guest room and watched her upend the contents of Jodee’s knapsack onto the bed. Out fell a wad of tattered muslin, a blood-stained shirt, and several rocks.
She must be acting out a scene for the ever-watchful and imaginative Maggie, Avinelle thought. “Mother, what’re you looking for?”
“My spoons!” her mother exclaimed, and convincingly, too. Then she drew three spoons from her pocket and threw them on the bed. “There,” she cried. “Look. She is stealing from us.”
As frustrated as she felt, Avinelle didn’t think Jodee deserved this. “Mother, really. Isn’t this beneath us?”
“If she robs us, Corbet will want to make it up to us, to you.”
Avinelle felt ashamed to be part of such a shabby trap. “I think you’re wrong about that.”
Was it necessary to trick Corbet? Avinelle wondered.
Spying Jodee’s handbag lying on the chair, she sidled up to it. The bag was so cheap she wanted to laugh. Jodee was no rival, she told herself. Jodee was a mutt. She, herself, was quality. And playing helpless wasn’t working on Corbet, either. Acting as if the holdup had scared her to death didn’t attract his concern. She must try a different approach. She must act more like a lady. A courageous lady. By contrast, Jodee must be made to look like the ill-bred outlaw’s daughter she was. Corbet would never prefer that.
Avinelle peered inside the bag. Coins, cartridges—“Mother, Jodee has a gun!”
“Perfect! We shall tell Corbet about the spoons and the gun and turn her out.” She flashed Avinelle a wicked look of satisfaction.
“If Corbet doesn’t love me, I don’t want him. I don’t want to marry again.” Avinelle felt like crying suddenly and the feeling made her furious. If a mutt like Jodee McQue could stand up to her mother, why couldn’t she?
Her mother got that hated wild look again. “You must marry. I am too old to find another man to support us. You have to do it. You have no idea how investors take advantage.”
“Take the spoons back,” Avinelle whispered. “If Jodee sees what we’ve done, she’ll come at us like a wildcat.”
“Let her raise a hand,” her mother hissed.
Avinelle didn’t relish the idea of being attacked. “Just take back the spoons, please. This makes me feel cheap.”
“All you need worry about, young lady, is getting Corbet Harlow to marry you.” But after a moment she took back the spoons.
“Let’s sell this hideous house and the damnable stage line and go home to New York,” Avinelle cried. “I’m tired of going to Cheyenne to sell my things to make ends meet. I was meant for better than this.”
Her mother seized her arm. “Let me tell you the truth then, you little twit. The stage line is not ours to sell. Nor the house. When Mr. Conroy came here the other day, he informed me that I inherited nothing. We have been living two years on a widow’s stipend. Everything here was funded by investors. Out of respect for Harold’s memory they have been waiting to liquidate. The investors want to sell before the railroad puts the stage line out of business.”
“The nearest railroad is a hundred miles away. It’ll be years—”
Avinelle gaped at her mother’s crazed expression and wondered if the woman had lost her mind.
“Investors shall not dare to put us into the street with a man like Corbet to defend us,” her mother said. “I am done with settlements. I will not start over again.”
When had they ever started over? For as long as Avinelle could remember they’d enjoyed the best of everything. “Does any of this have to do with my real father?”
Ignoring her, her mother stormed down the hall. Avinelle didn’t remember her father. She happily went away to finishing school. At seventeen, she enjoyed a lavish coming out party where she met the very handsome Lambert Babcock. Her future had seemed assured.
She ran down the hall. “Let’s go home, Mother! Please!”
“You must go on that picnic,” her mother said, searching for something in her room. “I will plead a headache. It will be just the two of you.”
“I’m not going to entice Corbet Harlow over a hamper of tea sandwiches. Do you expect me to expose myself in broad daylight and cry rape?”
“You are right,” her mother said, pausing, considering. “I will come along and make the accusation. He will marry you or be run out of town.”
Avinelle wanted to shake her. “Explain to me how would that help?”
Her mother lunged at her, grabbing her arms hurtfully. “I have gone through too much to let you ruin everything. I will not be put into the street again. If there were a more suitable man for you, I would invite him for Sunday dinner. You owe me.”
“If you want a businessman for me, Chester Clarkson is still in town. Philadelphia is almost New York. Why must we stay here? Why must I marry Corbet? You’ve lost your mind.”
“Not Clarkson,” her mother hissed. “He reminds me of—thank your lucky stars no man ever used you and refused to make good on his promises.”
Avinelle stamped her foot. Why not just tell Corbet they were floundering financially? They were only two helpless widows after all, selling valuables to get along, at the mercy of outlaws and businessmen trying to take cruel advantage. Corbet might not desire her, but he had always enjoyed helping her.
Stalking into her room, Avinelle sank to the edge of her bed. A picnic. How very lovely. Road dust, blazing sun, and rattlesnakes. There were days in this awful town when she wished she were dead. There were days when she wished her mother was.
An icy wash went through her. An outlaw’s daughter in the house…with a gun in her hand bag…Avinelle covered her face with trembling hands. At least she had her savings back. Why couldn’t she just walk out the door? Was she a fool or a coward?
• • •
Floating as if in a fantasy, feeling as happy as ever in her life, Jodee pranced through the front door into Avinelle’s entry hall. Corbet had kissed her. She had a beau!
Corbet followed Jodee inside.
The maid slipped into the shadows once the door was closed. The tantalizing aroma of supper filled the house. Jodee hoped Corbet was smiling inside just as she was. She longed to rise up on tiptoe and kiss him again just for the pure pleasure of it.
Widow Ashton appeared at the top of the stairs, her expression savage. Jodee’s happiness vanished.
Freezing Widow Ashton with a hard stare, Corbet said, “I have a few questions, Widow Ashton, if you have a moment. About the holdup.”
Widow Ashton clutched the handrail. “If you must, Marshal.”
Jodee didn’t like to think Corbet wanted to discuss the holdup so soon after kissing her. Wasn’t his head in the clouds?
“I’ll help Hanna with supper,” she said, hurrying upstairs to tie back her hair. It was a mass of tangles after the buggy ride. She ran into Avinelle, who looked nearly as unpleasant as her mother.
With a toss of her head, Avinelle stomped down the stairs in a sulk. Seeing Corbet, she rallied. “Dearest Corbet, are you sparing us a moment? How darling of you.” Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she pulled him gently toward the parlor as if they were going to dance.
Jodee struggled to ignore them but saw how Corbet appraised Avinelle. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t looking away, either. How long would she have to work to earn enough money for a dress like that? When would she ever be as beautiful?
Seconds later, in the guest room doorway, Jodee halted. Everything she owned lay scattered on the bed. The pistol had been removed from her bag and lay in plain sight. Her old bed dress was on the floor.
Damn their dirty hides, Jodee thought. She hadn’t believed they’d really search her knapsack. Was it their right? She wanted to tear open their drawers and dump everything on the floor. She wanted to open the silver music box and let its music fill the house. She wanted to break every ugly knickknack in the drawing room and throw the last of Widow Ashton’s silver spoons to hell and gone.
Instead, she smoothed her hair, gave it a vicious twist, and began knotting it. Her hair pins were all over the bed. She picked up one after another and jabbed them into her hair until it stayed in place, if crookedly. Looking at herself in the mirror, she caught her breath. Her eyes were blistering blue fire. Her mouth was a slash of hurt. If she went to the parlor now, in this state of mind, she might end up back in jail. She had to do whatever was necessary to have her new life. That meant she had to control her rage.
Why the hell bother? Did Avinelle or her mother control theirs? Were they honest and decent? Jodee wanted to shriek.
The kiss had been a dream, she thought, disappointment crashing through her like a tide. It had been a kiss of compassion, not love. A moment ago she had seen Corbet gaze at Avinelle an instant too long. Taking the pistol, she stormed down the back stairs into the kitchen. The pistol was not loaded but two fools wouldn’t know that.
No…No…take hold of yourself…
Jodee ignored herself.
Pots bubbled on the cook stove. Fresh rolls cooled on the pie table. Corbet’s questions and the widows’ soft replies could be heard coming from the parlor. Hanna came in from the rear porch, carrying two pails of water. Seeing Jodee’s fiery expression, and the pistol, she set them down with care.
“They went through my things,” Jodee growled. “It ain’t right.”
Hanna didn’t look as concerned as Jodee expected she should. “Miz Ashton asked me to turn out my pockets this morning, too.”
Jodee couldn’t bear it. Were they going to turn her only friend against her? “I swear, I ain’t touched a—” She was losing control. Nobody trusted her. She was going to shoot something, anything, just like Burl used to do when he was rattled.
She marched into the front hall, heels thudding, heart pounding. If the parlor doors hadn’t swept open at that moment she would’ve gone out the front door and never stopped. The urge to flee was all-consuming. How many times had she wanted to run when Burl pestered her, when it was cold and life seemed pointless. Like now. But always her father had been there to hold her with his love. She stayed with him because that’s what her mother would’ve wanted. This was too much. She was done with them all!
Corbet caught her at the door. “Jodee? I’d like you to hear what Avinelle and her mother just told me about the holdup.”
There stood Corbet with his handsome face and his coffee brown eyes filled with alarm like maybe he thought she’d gone crazy. The memory of their kiss confounded her. She loved Corbet. She wanted him to believe in her no matter what others might say. She yearned to leave, but finally she was able to turn. With all the dignity she could muster, she stalked into the parlor where her two hostesses sat, looking self-righteous and full of themselves. What did they have to be so smug about? They were just a couple of low-down snoops. She abandoned all respect for them.
Widow Ashton glared at Jodee, and Jodee glared back until, unbelievably, the widow dropped her gaze. Jodee couldn’t believe it.
“I was just telling the marshal the holdup upset me so much I simply cannot talk about it. I prefer to forget everything.” Widow Ashton clutched at her throat.
Corbet’s lips thinned with impatience.
“Very well.” Widow Ashton drew a deep breath. “The driver threw down the strong box and his rifle, but he had another gun hidden under his seat. The outlaws had trouble getting the safe to the ground—it was in the boot—then they couldn’t open it. In a fit of temper, one of them shot it. Avinelle screamed. She thought he was shooting at her I suppose. I thought so, too. The driver drew the hidden gun. The one carrying on like a lunatic shot him and he fell…right next to me. Then two more shots.” The widow covered her face with her hands.
“I thought I was killed,” Avinelle cried.
Widow Ashton roused herself. “One of the outlaws dropped from his horse dead, too.”
Jodee rubbed her forehead. She could picture her father lying on the ground.
“Listen, Jodee,” Corbet said, touching her arm. “Tangus shot the driver. Then he shot your father. Accidently or on purpose, we can’t know.”
Burl said the driver killed her father. That thieving snake Burl Tangus killed her father? She wrenched free of Corbet’s hand. She looked at the women staring at her and her little pistol. “Burl Tangus must think he has some claim on me. That’s why I need this.” She brandished the pistol.
Corbet’s hand shot out to caution her.
Trying to get out of the line of fire, Widow Ashton upset her chair. Amid the clatter of porcelain falling from a table, she shrieked, “Don’t shoot!”
Avinelle hid behind Corbet.
“This damn thing ain’t loaded. I’ve never even tried to fire it.” Whirling, seeing Corbet recoil, Jodee continued to brandish the unloaded pistol. “While we were at the jailhouse, Marshal, these two ladies went through my knapsack. I ain’t touched a thing of theirs. And don’t think I didn’t want to, plenty of times. No, I worked hard. I stood their nasty remarks. I held my tongue. I haven’t done nothing to deserve my things being searched.”
She swung on Widow Ashton. With a soft wail, the woman covered her face again.
“I tried to learn so’s I can get out of this flea-bitten house.” She handed Corbet the pistol. “If Burl comes for me, he can just shoot me dead. I don’t care anymore.”
Corbet's eyes snapped. “Simmer down, Jodee.” He handed the pistol back to her. “Jodee needs this to defend herself,” he said to Widow Ashton. To Jodee he said, “They told me Tangus shot your father. I thought you would want to know.”
Jodee dashed away tears. She felt betrayed by her own emotions. “I reckon I’m sorry for acting like this, but I don’t like folks going through my things no more than you would like it. I don’t much appreciate the things I cherish being thrown on the floor. You try being poor some time and see how you like it.”
Shaking, Widow Ashton edged away. “I was upset about the missing spoons.” She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.
“Did you find them among Jodee’s things?” Corbet demanded.
“No, I did not.”
“Did you take anything of Widow Ashton’s, Jodee?” Corbet asked, more impersonally than she liked.
“Hell, no, and I’m tired of being accused all the day long. If I am to stay here, I want to be trusted.”
“One cannot force another to trust,” Widow Ashton intoned. “One earns trust.”
“Tarnation! Would you tell me then what I can do to earn it?”
“Jodee,” Avinelle said, moving to the center of the room, hands clasped in front of her as if ready to recite. “On behalf of my mother and myself, I apologize for invading your privacy.” She motioned to the maid peeking through the open doorway. “Maggie, fetch the dust pan and broom. We’ve had an accident.” She indicated the broken porcelain on the floor. Attempting a valiant smile, Avinelle looked more beautiful than ever. “Forgive us, Corbet. Mother and I aren’t used to hosting former prisoners in our home. I promise Jodee will be trusted from this moment on.” She looked into Corbet’s eyes in a way that made Jodee’s blood dry up. Avinelle was offering much more than an apology.
But Corbet looked like he’d seen enough female foolishness for one day. “I’ll make other arrangements—“ He slashed his hand to silence Avinelle’s bleat of protest. “Patsy might need help—”
“Patsy’s visiting tomorrow. We have gifts for the baby. Come by while she’s here and we’ll ask. If Jodee doesn’t feel safe here, perhaps—” Avinelle looked rather hopeful.
To hold back more blistering words, Jodee gnashed her teeth. Why was she waiting for Corbet to give her permission to go anyplace? Her wound was healed. She wasn’t his prisoner. All she needed was money for a ticket out of town.
“I’ll help Mrs. Robstart if she needs it,” Jodee said, “but I won’t work for free. So long as I have no money I’m stuck with folks who don’t want me around.” She turned as Maggie scuttled in with the dust pan and broom. “Let me do that.”
“Forty-five cents a day plus board and meals,” Widow Ashton said. “You’ll move to the back porch.” She flashed a challenging look at Corbet.
He said nothing.
Jodee scarcely knew what to think. The old nag was offering pay?
“Fifty cents, then.”
“Done,” Jodee said, pleased beyond all hope.
Corbet rubbed the back of his neck.
Feeling better, Jodee drew a deep breath and let it out. There. Given a few calculations, she’d soon know how many days she must work to earn her ticket out of town.
“Let me see you to the door, Corbet,” Avinelle crooned, taking Corbet’s elbow and steering him into the hall. “Leave Jodee to her work.”
Before he went, Corbet caught Jodee’s eye. She felt that invisible tether spring up between them. The memory of their kiss was in his eyes. Jodee puffed out her chest and felt like life had just taken a turn for the better.
It was chilly on the enclosed back porch where an array of trunks and packing crates were stacked. It reminded Jodee of the hovels she had lived in the past six years. Widow Ashton had failed to tell Corbet there was no bed on the porch, but Jodee didn’t care. The space was clean and dry. At once it felt like her own.
One of the trunks she moved was so old its hinges were broken. As she pushed it aside, the lid slid off. She saw clothes and papers inside, and was naturally curious, but she ignored the temptation to snoop. Replacing the lid, she placed a folded carpet on the floor as her mattress, covered it with her old bed dress—it had served as a sheet before—and looked around for something to use as a blanket. She had Hanna’s shawl. No matter. She had slept in the cold before.
From the back porch windows she could see a light in the carriage house where Bailey had his room. She wondered about the man, going about his daily chores with so little to say. Hanna paid him quiet attention, seeing that he got hot coffee of a morning and a good portion for his dinner each night.
What Maggie did at night, Jodee didn’t know. Jodee hadn’t ventured to the attic yet to visit her. She longed to talk to the woman, to ask questions about Widow Ashton and Avinelle, but in spite of Jodee’s overtures of friendship, Maggie remained silent.
With Hanna gone for the night, the darkened house felt lonely. What did the widows do in the evening alone in their separate rooms? Her grandmother used to do mending in the parlor. When Jodee’s mother was alive, they sat on the porch swing, or in the kitchen, talking. She remembered sitting at her mother’s feet, playing with clothespin dolls. After her mother died, she sat near her grandmother, waiting for the woman to talk to her. The day never came.
Jodee and her father had enjoyed pleasant evenings together around a campfire or a hearth fire if they were lucky enough to be squatters in a shack. He always had a story to tell of his wild, youthful days. In the last few months he’d told the same stories again and again, but the sound of his voice and the rumble of his laughter had warmed Jodee. It was hard to believe those days were over. She’d never see him again in this life.
Growing drowsy, Jodee let her thoughts return to Corbet and his kiss. She relived it a dozen times, wondering when she would see him next, and if he would ever kiss her again.
Hearing a sound in the darkness behind the house, Jodee came instantly alert.
She heard footsteps near the house. With her heart suddenly racing, Jodee got up and looked through the porch's back window. Bailey’s light was out. The rising mountainside behind the house was a shadowed hulk. The night air soaking through the thin porch walls smelled of pine and rock.
Was it Avinelle moving about in her room? Widow Ashton crossing from dressing table to bed? What might Maggie be doing in her attic room? Did she tiptoe through the house at night, listening at doors, opening drawers and wardrobes, watching people sleep?
Or was it Burl? He might have some small interest in her, but surely there was something more. The stagecoach holdup had been a bust. Nearly all the loot had been recovered. Burl probably had nothing left to live on. He was planning something. Jodee was sure of it. Something new.