Chapter Five

“Cordy, we’ve got no bed sheets in stock.” Geraldine Hackett’s plump cheeks shriveled in disappointment over her cash register. Cordy, missing Hawk so much it hurt, barely noticed.

“We’ve had few deliveries of new merchandise since Christmas. But I do have bolts of cloth. How much did you say you need?”

That pronouncement got Cordy’s attention. She knew little about sewing and hoped not to sound the fool. She took a deep breath. Hawk had used the figure sixty feet. And she realized the conundrum. Chuckled inside at using his own word, and trembled all the way to her boot heels. Then she sobered. The conundrum—her boardinghouse was supposed to fill up with contestants; she’d need her own stash of bed sheets for their original purpose. Her heart and their plans crashed hard.

“Um.” She ciphered quick, for she’d often heard the local housewives ordering dry goods in yards. “Twenty yards.”

But…she did further computation in her head. How high would the screen need to be? Horses were tall animals, and taller yet in flight. Oh, where was Hawk when she needed him? She struck away the wayward thought even though her heart pounded. Of course she didn’t need him, but of course, she did. Only as a business partner to be sure, but beside the point. She still trembled, and her blood burned deep inside at the mere thought of him.

And good heavens, miss him? Yes, she did. Now. And when he left, her heart would splinter like a broken mirror. It thudded so hard at the thought she reckoned it would shatter right now.

She gulped at Mrs. Hackett’s curious eyes and reckoned the shopkeeper had, somehow, heard her inner turmoil.

“Uh.” Cordy fought to talk. “And somewhat more. The screen itself, um, must be ten feet high.”

Ah, he’d be staying a week. Her heart lightened both with and without her consent. Many good things could happen in a week.

Mrs. Hackett clattered her teeth in thought. “Hmmmm. I do have bolts of canvas in the back, and mattress ticking. And, hmmmm.” Sweet old eyebrows grew together like gray roots. “And I have much calico if you don’t mind it printed with delicate flowers. Thirty-six inches or so between the selvages. Would approximately nine feet do for you?”

Hawk aside, Cordy scratched her cheek. Now Mrs. Hackett talked in inches but might as well be speaking in tongues. Mama, an academic like Papa, had taught her daughter Emerson’s essays and Descartes’ calculus, not needlework. “That should do, I think.” Cordy raised her face to show confidence. How hard would it be to cobble together a twenty-yard long, approximately nine-foot high screen from selvages thirty-six inches wide? Mr. Emerson’s writings were ever filled with optimism.

Geraldine’s cheeks turned to ripe peaches again. “Well, let me get the materials from the stockroom.” But she paused to pat Cordy’s shoulder. “Oh, dear, I think this exhibition is a wonderful breath of fresh air for Paradise. It’s been such a dismal winter. That Mr. Shockley is quite the clever gentleman.” Geraldine toddled off.

Yes. Cordy agreed silently, missing him anew. And beautiful, too.

Cordy tapped her foot and rested elbows on the counter, peered around the empty store. Outside the front window, the townsfolk milled around each and every handbill, lips busy in discussion of the upcoming event. The populace certainly had livened up since yesterday. While she waited, four buckboards rolled past, and six horsemen clopped by.

Even through the closed windows, Paradise’s excitement rippled across her. Cordy breathed out relief. Surely their venture would bring success. And money. Hawk Shockley wasn’t just a clever gentleman, but her savior. She’d best get her errand done and head home to prepare noonday dinner. An enthusiastic mob had formed near the sign on her front window and they’d eventually need food. With that realization, she wandered the shelves for a few supplies.

The little bell at the front door clanged with a new customer. Katie Haynes, Cordy’s first friend in town. The schoolmarm had been in born in Paradise, and they were close in age. Katie had helped her navigate as a newcomer, and Cordy remained ever grateful.

She set down the groceries and hugged her friend. “Oh, great day, Katie! I missed you at choir last Sunday.”

“It was cold outside, and I had a bit of an ague.” Katie rolled her eyes. “Aunt Mattie kept me inside at the farm with doses of mint tea. She treats me like everybody else in Paradise. Like I’m still six years old with pigtails and skinned knees.”

“Well, you did grow up here.” Cordy chuckled. “You should board with me. Especially after what you went through in January.”

“I’ve suggested, but Aunt Mattie promised my parents she’d keep her eyes out.” Katie flushed, walked Cordy to a display of ladies’ hats. “And me under her thumb.” Her lips tightened. “So she has the farm hand drive me each day. They all disapprove of two young girls alone.”

Cordy bristled. She had been rubbing the soft rooster feather hanging from a bonnet crown and now nearly tugged it free in her pique. “Two young girls? We’re women! You’ve a certificate from an accredited normal school, and I run a successful business!” She swallowed a grunt. Well, successful until Clancy had gotten a hold of it.

“Nonetheless, their only other idea was having me move in with Uncle Call’s parents here at the mercantile. In their apartment upstairs.” Katie grumped and touched the feather, too. “Oh, Cordy, I adore them, but I’d be stifled to death in such close quarters. I’ll take my chances with another blizzard.” For a moment, her freckles and pout did make her seem a child. “Are you doing well?”

“I don’t really know.” Cordy hoped her face didn’t glow with doom. “I’m here, trying to assemble a screen. A backdrop for the photographs of the flying horses. Have you seen the posters?”

“Oh, yes!” Katie’s eyes sparkled, cheerful once more. “I’m here for drawing pencils while the church organist holds music class. My pupils will sketch the flying horses for an art project.” Katie’s smile held a secret. Cordy held her breath. Something else was afoot. Katie moved to finger a lovely capote-style hat bunched with white silk and dripping with lace ties.

“It’s quite bridal. One of my mama’s designs. Mrs. Hackett consigns them, you know.”

“I do, and it is beautiful.”

Katie swiveled her head about the store. “Cordy, I’ve been meaning to confide in you. And there are no eavesdroppers around right now. They’re all outside gabbing about the flying horses.”

Nerves flickered. “Mrs. Hackett will be back any second,” Cordy warned.

“We’ll hear her clomping in time. She’s a large woman. And I’ll hurry. It’s about”—Katie whispered—“Charlie.”

“Charlie?”

Katie blushed. “Charlie Tuttle.”

Charlie Tuttle? Ah, Chullie, Hawk’s first fan in town. Cordy smiled. He tended her Duchess at the livery. “What about him?”

Katie fingered the hat’s ruched fabric. “It’s a dreadful shame, a ’marm forced to give up her schoolroom if she weds.”

“Of course it’s not right. What are you talking about?” Cordy leaned close.

“Charlie and I. Well…”

“What? You and Charlie? You’re getting married?” In shock, Cordy’s jaw fell almost to her collar.

Katie blushed, freckle by freckle. “He wants to make formal calls. I need your help, Cordy. You know how protective Aunt Mattie is. You might prime the pump with what a good, hard-working man Charlie is. Uncle Call knows that, of course. They both work with horses, but he’d never gainsay Aunt Mattie. He’s so henpecked.”

Cordy shoved her friend away. Hurt. “You never said a word.”

“We’ve had sparks between us since we were children but now, we’re grown up.” Katie paused, and Cordy had to admit to understanding. How could she blame her friend for keeping secrets? She’d never once confided in Katie, or anyone, about Clancy’s foibles and troublemaking. Or her own dream of finding a cowboy and wide open spaces.

Katie’s face brightened. “Oh, Cordy, I’m certain I’m in love with him.”

The hurt turned to frustration. “Katie, you can’t possibly think to rush into something. You’re changing children’s lives. Showing your female students they have opportunities. You cannot give up your career just to marry somebody.”

The counter swayed around her, and Cordy grabbed it. Considered an earthquake or hurricane-style wind, until she realized it was steady enough. It was she going off-kilter.

Katie sniffed. “I’m not announcing any marriage. And he’s not just somebody. He’s my first kiss. My only kiss. He won the Bonnet Race when I was fourteen. You know the prize is giving a kiss to the woman of your choice.”

“Marriage is the next step,” Cordy persisted, somehow jealous of a first and only kiss. “If he wants to call on you, asking for your hand isn’t far off. But Katie, marriage isn’t just love.”

“It’s the most important part.”

“Well, of course. I, uh, everyone wants to find love. But marriage is more than those first flutters.” Cordy seemed to find the strength Reverend Satterburg garnered for his fiery yet gentle sermons. “Marriage is deep and lifelong. You need to know every square inch of his feelings. His intellect. His goals for the future. How much you have in common. What on earth you’ll talk about for the next fifty years.”

Her parents had taught her all of that. Mama in fact had spurned a young man’s love early on because they came from enormously different worlds. Despite the instant sparks between them. Instead, Mama had settled for a man—Papa—whose intellect she shared and whose sentences she could finish.

Settled? Cordy shook away the horrid verb. They’d finally loved; Mama still mourned. But had Mama wasted the sparks?

For some reason, Hawk Shockley swam behind Cordy’s eyelids. His warm fingers trailed across her skin. Oh, so much, so very much could happen in seven days…

Katie’s eyes brimmed. “Well, I look forward to Charlie and me finding new things for fifty years. I don’t want to know everything today.” She grabbed Cordy’s sleeve. “But it’s a grown-up love, Cordy. And I’m so sorry I didn’t confide in you, but you’ve had so much on your mind these past months. Clancy, you know.” She blew a kiss toward the hat. “And the heart wants what the heart needs. Now don’t be cross with me. When the time does come, I hope you’ll be my maid of honor and stand at my side.”

The heart wants what the heart needs. Sparks. Hawk. Cordy couldn’t talk. No, Cordy would never waste a man like him.

She did need him, didn’t she? And not merely for the scheme. And wanting him went without saying. She’d barely slept all night, knowing he was tangled in sheets she’d be washing herself. Only half meaning it, she urged her racing heart to calm down.

Hawk flashed again in her head, but Cordy finally found her voice. “If I’m still here.”

“What do you mean?” Katie, shocked, grabbed Cordy’s hand with fingers gone instantly cold.

“Well, here it all is.” Briefly, Cordy shared the awful details of Mr. Pelikan’s visit, struck suddenly how Hawk’s enterprise of the flying horses had held off the spread of her downfall.

Goodness, was it possible to admire Hawk even more? Her heart thrummed.

“Oh, twaddle.” Katie shrugged off Cordy’s misfortune. “You’re not going anywhere. The exhibition will bring in the money to save you. People will need food and places to stay.”

Cordy mumbled something, touched at Katie’s promise of success, but jealous nonetheless. Her friend had a fine job and yet had found true love while Cordy…Hawk Shockley shimmered again. Business arrangement, nothing more.

No. She wanted more. Could the admiration possibly be sprouting into love?

Cordy’s breathing stopped at the mere thought of him. “Then I’m happy for you, Katie,” she managed finally and grasped her friend’s hands. She did mean it. Then practicality reared. “But as for the flying-horse demonstration, I don’t think your class, or anybody, can actually see all four hooves aloft. It happens fast. That’s why we need photographers, to catch the moment.”

Katie laughed, still fingering the bridal feather. “It’ll still be fun. Holding art class out of doors. The weather’s finally mild enough. In fact, it’s an entire school of art. Plein Air. It means composing your works outdoors while you look at your subject. Landscapes usually, but who cares? And this afternoon, I’ll read the myth of Pegasus from Bullfinch’s. And I’ll display artists’ illustrations for inspiration.”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Cordy caught it. “I love your ideas. We’ll waive the spectator fees, and I’m sure I can convince Hawk to offer a small prize for the best sketch. And I’ll display the artwork on the boardinghouse wall. Thanks so for supporting our venture.”

Right as she finished the last syllable, her tongue having trembled at the sound of his name, Hawk Shockley burst through the mercantile door, gasping. Her heart exploded despite his face, white as death, and his jaw tense as a bowstring.

Hawk nodded at Katie but didn’t wait for an introduction. His hand was heavy on Cordy’s arm. She tingled anyway. “We must talk. Now. Let’s get to the boardinghouse.”

“I can’t leave.” Cordy pulled away, blood pounding at the mere touch of him. “Mrs. Hackett is in the storeroom getting the material we need for the screen.”

“Cordy, this can’t wait.” His tone was distraught, but fortunately, not in the demanding way Clancy’s had been, all those times he needed something she’d easily given.

Yet she’d learned to be cautious. “Please explain.”

Katie’s eyes were bright with curiosity. “Go along, Cordy. I’ll have the delivery boy bring your order to the boardinghouse. And Mr. Shockley, pleased to meet you.”

“Katie Haynes,” Cordy tossed in.

“Honored, Miss Haynes. Forgive my…distraction.” Hawk’s eyes were blank, but his smile was large and polite. And fake. Then, gently but without much else that was gentlemanly, Hawk dragged Cordy outside.

Nebraska’s north wind had turned wicked and blew apart the edges of Cordy’s navy blue burnoose. But the deep chill came from somewhere else and rippled across her skin. Why was Hawk so panicked he’d forgone his good manners?

“Hawk, you’re scaring me.” Her fingers wove around his. “What on earth has happened? Is it the flying horses? Has someone gotten hurt?” She gulped. Or worse. “Is someone dead?”

Clancy’s awful death weakened Cordy anew. She hung onto Hawk while their footfalls smacked the boardwalk in a quick rhythm. Then he stopped so suddenly in front of the tinsmith’s she stumbled into his arms. Strong, warm arms. For a long moment, he wrapped her close.

And she let him. Stayed willingly. Nothing else mattered.

For Cordy knew right then, here was where she wanted to be. For all time. For once, she deserved peace and tenderness. Sparkles warmed around them. His embrace tightened further, and she forgot everything. And cared not a whit if the townsfolk noticed.

His breath tickled her hair even through her hood. Finally, Hawk pulled back a little and craned his neck every which way. With people clumped around the flying horse posters, busily discussing their strategies, nobody stood near to them at all.

It was like they were the only two people in the world. And he was the only one she wanted next to her.

But she had to know. “Who has died, Hawk?”

Now his breath turned cold, quick. Desperate. “Me. I’m dead. Or I will be. Oh, Cordy.”

He held her like he’d never let go.

And she never wanted him to stop. Oh, and how perfectly she fit against him beneath the shadow of his Stetson. But dead?

“You?” She mumbled. “Dead? What do you mean?”

Cordy forced herself to draw away as an ugly thought took root. “Oh, dear goodness. Are you an outlaw? With a bounty hunter after you? Or a swindler? Oh, Hawk, for shame.” Her skin goosed from disappointment, and her heart downright cracked a little.

“Oh, no, no. It’s nothing like that, Cordy. Believe me.” Hawk embraced her tighter than she imagined possible. “But I shall be dead as a doornail tomorrow. Unless—” His voice slowed as if his words froze slowly in the air. Then his gaze heated.

“Unless what” she murmured against his chest.

“Unless you marry me. Today.”

His words stopped her heart, and she pulled away as if he’d burned her. Marry him, the man of her dreams? Now, when she needed a fresh start? She gasped into her fist, then couldn’t breathe enough to mourn. The poor man had lost his mind. And she’d fallen for his scheme—and him—without any sensible wits of her own.

“Marry you?” Cordy whispered the words in terrible awe. In crushing regret. Every dream she’d ever dreamed mirrored back to her in his eyes.

Marry him? Her pulse clunked as dreams died one by one. Why couldn’t this be real? She stared at him, into eyes that gleamed with her own pain. Hated that she saw her own life reflected in his deep blue gaze. Her breath hitched both at the impossibility and at his beauty. Then breaking free, she choked on tears and hustled to her front door. The gathering throng parted like the Red Sea.

Good heavens, Cordy had fallen for a halfwit. But it was regret, not fear, that swamped her.

“Cordy, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” A neighbor’s soft voice beseeched, a work worn hand reached for hers. Cold spring wind swirled around her.

“Yes, Mr. Kleinschmidt. I’m fine.” Legs like wet noodles, she fumbled for her key. Hawk’s manly scent closed around her as warm as his embrace, and she gave him a large smile. Although her heart meant it, her good sense didn’t. But insane or not, she needed him. She needed money, and he was her business partner, bringing in customers. He didn’t have to be her husband. And with eager town folks so close, she had to act like she trusted him.

She cleared her throat with such a tornado effect Mr. Kleinschmidt’s eyes widened like a full moon rising over the cornfields. “Everyone, this is Mr. Shockley. I’m, uh, I’m afraid I can’t offer dinner today. Uh, he—and I have so many preparations for the exhibition.”

The crowd cooed in disappointment and excitement both, despite Cordy’s very faked smile. She counted quick and her spirits dimmed. If she concocted a quick meal, she’d make another two dollars, But marriage, not money, was on her mind.

Marriage to a man who had flitted forever inside her dreams without her really seeing him until now. When it was too late. Now, when he’d gone mad.

Hawk tipped his Stetson at the gaggle, then took the key from Cordy, who noticed his own fingers trembling, opened the door and pushed her inside.

With a wide swing of his arms, Hawk embraced the crowd. “I hope indeed to see all of you at the exhibition. Either as entrants or spectators.” His words sounded firm and rational, and his smile so lit up the day the females nearby cooed again.

Hawk shoved Cordy inside and locked the door behind him.

Although Cordy still trembled from his embrace, fear screamed in her head. Was Hawk holding her hostage? Clancy had had a Bowie knife, and a pistol, but she didn’t remember where. Oh, life had grown hard.

So hard. Caution prevailed. Cordy was an educated woman, after all.

“Get away from me.” Her words scratched her ears; she didn’t have time to care about anybody else’s hearing. “Hawk, you belong in an asylum, I’m sad to say. You are completely deranged. Father explained the signs of delusion. Flying horses are bad enough, and I’ve agreed to it, but marriage? Life-long commitment with an hour’s notice?”

Hawk reached for her and she was truly tempted, but instead, she swallowed a sob. “And today yet? With all we have to do? Goodness, I’ve got a screen to sew. With selvages!”

As if she were a porcelain treasure, Hawk tenderly helped Cordy shrug from her burnoose. Just the quick touch of his hands on her shoulders sent her heart spinning. Then he sat her at the dining table, and took the chair next to her. Their thighs meshed beneath gabardine and wool, and she liked it more than she cared to be wary.

He didn’t seem insane at all now. And he was magnificent beyond words.

His hands and voice touched her, soft and sweet. Like the lilac-scented air of a spring day yet to come. “Cordy, I’m deathly serious. The exhibition is not a mad plot, and I’m not insane. But I need a real marriage. Not a masquerade. Could you could you possibly help me?”

The tenderness again. Then he ruined everything. From his pocket, he drew a flask and poured a glug down his throat.

She rolled her eyes while her gentle feelings ran down her throat. Men and their spirits. Her fists pounded once on the tabletop. “Help you? I am helping you!” Now Cordy stamped a foot. “I’ve got to stitch a twenty-yard long almost nine-feet-high screen. With selvages! I don’t even know what that means. I can’t sew! And I can’t marry you, either. I’ve got to draw lines somewhere.” She choked on tears; his proposal would have been a dream come true.

Some other day. Or some other life.

Just yesterday…

Hawk’s hot gaze locked with hers. “Cordy, will you at least hear me out?”

Her heart flickered. Under other circumstances, she’d give in on the spot. Nowhere in his words was the needy begging she’d heard from Clancy his whole life, but marriage?

“I suppose you’re worth a listen.” She found she couldn’t stop her words. Her fist relaxed. “I’ll hear you out.”

But maybe, maybe she shouldn’t listen at all. Her fingers tensed into a ball again. What if…she was tempted beyond her good sense and landed in his arms like a falling apple warm from the sun? She hardened her heart. “But I’m not accepting any proposal.”

“Thank you. That’s all I ask.” Hawk held out a yellow Western Union telegram, and her heart tremored along with his trembling fingers. “Read it.”

And so she did. Out loud.

“Tomorrow Paradise will become permanent for you.

EM”

She screwed up her face in question. “How on earth is this a death threat? And what does that have to do with marrying me?”

Cordy grumbled with heartbreak. Her first marriage proposal was a real disappointment.

Hawk held her hand, but she turned her fingers into claws just in case. “Cordy, it is a death threat. He does not mean Paradise, this town. He means Paradise. Heaven.”

In thought, his lips tightened together on one side. They were still stupidly kissable, and she hated herself for thinking so. “Although, in all due respect, I should think he’d wish me in hell.”

“Who?” Cordy’s disenchantment turned to outraged curiosity. “Can you please make some sense? What is all this about heaven? And hell? Who on earth is EM?”

Hawk wiggled his shoulders as if to relax them against the hard arrowback chair, then looked her straight on. “Eadweard Muybridge. And he wants me dead.”