Chapter Eight

In the corner of Hawk’s eye, Cordy and her friend chatted like magpies by the cobbler’s, so he turned his attention to the framework. It stretched across a muddy yard between the livery stables and the large building behind it and appeared half-complete. Donations of old clapboard and leftover fencing had greatly eased financial concerns and avoided a credit account at the lumberyard. Hawk’s posse and several men he did not yet know hollered and swung their hammers in greeting. He pulled off his Stetson and waved it at them, lest they forget he was, at heart, a man of the west.

“Hello, my good gents. I mean, howdy.” He called out in emphasis. In truth, he had no idea quite how the tangle of boards should appear. Although he’d dug fence posts, ranch work, not construction, was his specialty. But he pretended authority at the very least, and eager participation at the very most. With Gunnar’s thumb bleeding from a dreadful mispounding, Hawk took the hammer from him. Pounding nails, now, that he could do. “Let me get on with it. Go rest your wound.”

“No, my lord, it’s your wedding day.”

“Please. No milord. It’s Hawk.” He tried to grin, but his heart hammered along with the nail he began to pound. His wedding day. The beautiful Cordy, bride to be. Would there be a wedding night? Or were they to be business partners all the way through? Oh, he wanted her. As wife, partner. Lover. All the way through. His breath raced.

Forever and ever. Amen. His blood rushed to match the heat burgeoning in his loins.

“Oh, yes, the holy wedding day.” An ugly little voice scraped the crowd, interrupted the luscious daydreams of his bride.

“What?” Hawk held his hammer in the air like Thor. Everyone stopped like a music box run out of winding. Not a voice could be heard over the brisk wind. Hawk turned. The skinny runt who had broken Cordy’s heart with the foreclosure stood, chest puffed out, like a gamecock.

“And you are, sir?” Hawk coughed over the sir and, still gripping the tool, maneuvered to face the crowd.

“Percival Pelikan of the Farmland Bank.” He spat but it was more like baby dribble. “And we know why the wedding is so hasty.” Behind spectacles, Pelikan’s eyes were as hard and dark as olive pits.

“You know nothing.” Hawk had no idea where the man was going, but he’d survived worse. He had made an honorable proposal to a woman who had accepted—a woman he was falling in love with, he realized, and everything about the flying horse exhibit was above board. He had Sheriff Pelton’s word on that.

The runt pushed through the posse to stand in front of Hawk although he stumbled over a board on the way over. “I am on your side, Lord Shockley. I brought Cordelia Meeker the news just yesterday about foreclosing on her inn. Perhaps she failed to mention her predicament.”

Hawk’s fingers tightened around the handle of the hammer, and he counted to ten else he’d nail the man’s head. Whatever Pelikan’s bent, Hawk needed to protect Cordy’s reputation, as well as his own as entrepreneurs.

“If you are on my side, Mr. Pelikan, then you’d enter the exhibition. As has every true man for many miles.” Hawk had no need to stand taller; his height was at least eighteen inches beyond the banker’s. “And of course I know of the foul difficulties your bank has delivered to her. An honorable proprietress.”

“Then of course, you understand her immediate need for money.” The gamecock’s face reddened, and the wind chilled further.

Hawk cleared his throat, boots firmly on the ground. “Yes. Therefore, we designed this exhibition.”

“Pooh! This folderol?” Pelikan snorted and kicked at the lumber he’d nearly tripped upon. “You’ll end up with injured men and horses that must be put down. Flying horses? This snake-oil demonstration must be of her doing. With her fancy New England airs.”

Hawk’s pique rustled, but he grabbed his manners. “The demonstration has been tried and proven in California. And the participants here in Paradise are eager to show off their horses.”

As if on cue, the livery owner Nathan Moulton, on a fine chestnut quarter horse, started a run down the street. Of course, the shadows had no screen on which to project, and ideally the sun should be in the east, but at least the man was proving enthusiasm for the exhibition. Nathan saluted Hawk, who warmed at the support.

The gathered spectators, entrants, and workers, who had paused in anticipation, shouted in admiration, thereby halting Pelikan’s diatribe. As soon as Nathan’s ride concluded, Pelikan peered above his glasses at Hawk. The angle was so preposterous the fool’s eye sockets must ache, and Hawk hid a smile.

“And of course she’d compromise a rich man under her roof.” Pelikan blew on his fingernails, then buffed them against his scrawny thigh. Looking at no one in particular.

“What are you saying?” Hawk raised his chin, eyes trained on Moulton, petting his horse’s neck.

“I’m saying what all hereabouts are thinking.” Pelikan rubbed his hands together like a villainous child. “She needs money and has seduced you to force you into marriage.”

The gathered crowd gasped in horror.

Hawk could hardly find words to reply. He held down a fierce urge to wield the hammer. “You insult my wife.”

Pelikan smirked. “Ah, Miss Cordelia Meeker. Not quite your wife. All alone with you last night. All night. And today, a sudden wedding. What a strumpet we have here in Paradise.”

“You filthy…” Hawk shouted. The outraged comments of everyone thudded onto the air. Wrath as red as blood swam before Hawk’s eyes. Marquis of Queensbury be damned. He dropped the hammer and knotted his fists. But Pelikan danced away on feet no larger than a child’s. Hawk unclenched his fingers, for this was a battle better won with words. For one thing, the fool wore spectacles. “You are a miserable, measly worm to insult such a fine woman.”

“As I say, good sir, I am on your side.” Pelikan brushed a splotch of mud from his black trousers. “What did she do?” He began, casually. “What? Did she ply you with her brother’s leftover whiskey? Or merely her wiles?” Across the group, Pelikan waved his arms like scrawny wings. “An English gentleman like Lord Shockley would never, ahem, attack a lone female. But with no other guests to prevent her perfidy? Her seduction? What else can we expect from a Meeker?”

Pelikan’s voice rose above the shocked crowd like a missionary threatening souls with hell. “What else can we expect? That twin brother of hers was scum of the earth. Born in the same womb. What can we expect?” He hollered.

“You lie!” He yelled with gritted teeth.

“No, milord. My Percival is right. She’s sullied.” An older woman amongst the spectators hissed loudly, and Hawk withered a glance at her. “You all know my son speaks the truth. What you’re all thinking. Cordelia Meeker has always been too fancy to walk about with my son. High and mighty Vermonter. Putting on airs. Using big words. And now, compromising this fine lord?”

Ah, the fool’s mother. Hawk saw clearly. Retribution upon Cordy for rejecting her silly son. Hawk had to consider his options. He did have the exhibition to present, and he must remain above board. Yet how could he allow Cordy to be maligned? Bride or not, no innocent woman deserved such cavalier gossip.

Suddenly he understood Pelikan’s point and knew exactly what to do. He grabbed the fool by the collar and lifted him off his feet to stare him down. “Her brother’s sins are not hers. And her refusal of your company shows what an intelligent woman she is.”

Gunnar and the rest of Hawk’s posse thundered from their building project.

“Ought to shut your mouth, Pelikan…” Gunnar warned.

“Pelikan sure is a worm,” somebody called out.

“Worse than a worm.”

“Never liked him,” Gunnar again.

“Had my oma lose her farm when my granddad died…”

It was possibly not Hawk’s most manly moment, but he quite relished the rascal dangling from his grasp, flushed from the insults pelted at him.

Pelikan struggled and yelled. “I am not here to be liked. You may name-call me all you choose. I follow the laws of finance and do the job I was hired to do.”

“That does not include besmirching an honorable woman.” Hawk’s voice lowered, dangerous.

Gunnar growled. “Put him down, Hawk. We-uns will show him how we get things done in Paradise.”

Oh, permitting a melee was so tempting, but Sheriff Pelton might not approve. Although heartened by the support from Hawk’s new friends, Hawk set Pelikan to rights. “We must decline, chums. We are better men than he.”

Disappointment rumbled through the crowd.

He glared at the homely woman who tussled with her son’s collar. “No, let’s leave him be. All here know what a fine woman my Cordelia is. And we must accept that this sad little man did not have a proper upbringing.”

“Well, I never!” Mrs. Pelikan glared back.

Hawk saluted the group. “I offered Miss Meeker a loving, honest, heart-felt proposal, which she accepted with all the dignity of a respectable bride.”

With an outraged gasp, Mrs. Pelikan grabbed Percival’s hand like he was four years old and flounced the two of them back to the main street. She did one last indignant turnaround and muttered a very unladylike blaspheme.

The crowd both gasped and whooped, but Hawk prayed the other biddies in town didn’t share old Mrs. Pelikan’s convictions.

Nathan Moulton walked his horse over to Hawk’s side.

“Good job, my man. Fine horse.”

“Thanks kindly. And never mind those Pelikans. Disagreeable folk ever since the mister left in a huff. Probably running for his life.” Nathan punched Hawk’s shoulder. “All the rest of us hereabouts in Paradise—and the horses stuck in stalls all winter—think the world of Miss Cordy and thank you for this chance. We’ll be ready, Hawk. Let me help you get this frame done.” Nathan bent to get the hammer. “And you might ought to find your lady. Once the town cluckers get started on their cackling, it spreads like smallpox. And Brunhild Pelikan don’t let anything or anybody get in the way of her baby boy.”

“I’d like to help.”

Nathan laid a hand on Hawk’s shoulder. “And you will. We get the construction done, you nail up the screen. Gonna be a job, that one. A hundred feet long. Go to Cordy. Mighty fine woman you got yourself there.”

“I know.” Hawk grinned. Cordy. His blood danced with both joy and desire. From the first moment in his arms, his heart had insisted she belonged there. Of course he loathed being apart from her, but they’d soon be together forever. And she was a strong woman on steady feet. The perfect partner for a man bound for a new start in the West. “I’ll take up that suggestion and find my bride. I’ll return soon.”

“Hawk, first off you got to sign up some new contestants.” Gunnar grabbed him and for a quarter hour or so, Hawk tended to the new batch of contracts. Satisfaction covered him. The business venture looked to be a rousing success. And the hole in his heart being away from Cordy would knit right up in an hour or so when they spoke vows.

Finally he headed to the boardinghouse and wondered if Cordy would miss Paradise when she—they—left. The town was a fine one, truth to tell. It was inviting and comfortable and he just might miss it himself. The boardinghouse parlor was empty, so Hawk hurried to the kitchen to find his bride. Terror stopped his veins when he heard sobbing behind the doorway to her room.

“Cordy, what’s wrong?” He knocked loud, desperate to barge in. “May I enter?”

“You might as well.” She rose from a tumble of sheets and pillows, face streaked and red but glorious anyway. “I never thought I’d weep over a man again. In fact, I promised myself I wouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. Thanks to Pelikan’s foul mother, everybody in town thinks you spent all last night with me. At my invitation.” She threw herself into his arms.

“No one can possibly believe that! I set them straight.” Hawk’s arms tightened around the precious bundle.

“Well, not straight enough.” Her gaze dripped with tears as her lids crunched together. “Oh! Hawk, the catcalls. The insults. The biddies all stood in a circle, pointing at me. Mrs. Albert Schneider is positively satanic. Calling me names. The accusations. Nobody’s had anything else to discuss but the weather! Before that it was Clancy. So I’m the logical target. Simply because we shared a womb.” She buried her head in his chest.

He breathed in the scent of her hair and clasped her tighter yet. Around them flowed comfort, protection, love—yes, love. The reality bloomed like a sudden flower. Until death parted them, he wanted to give her all of that.

Most of all, love.

“Darling, it doesn’t matter what they think. We know the truth. And I promise you, none of the posse think any such thing. And besides…” He cupped her face like a priceless treasure. “We won’t need to stay here much longer. Unless you want to.”

For propriety’s sake, for Cordy had yet done nothing improper, he steadied her upright and snug in the cradle of his arm, left her bedroom. They headed to the kitchen and sat close together in front of the stove. She didn’t shift away from their nearness but did avoid his eyes.

“Hawk, these last twenty-four hours have been filled with too many emotions. I can’t think straight. But is our marriage even necessary now?” Her arms tightened but her voice turned sad.

“Cordy, my proposal is sincere. And forever. We can make this work, I promise.” His flesh sparked when he touched her cheek.

She sniffed away one last tear. “Oh, Hawk, I know women everywhere marry quickly and for reasons other than love. And I know, in your circles, brides are chosen for breeding and lineage and money, and other not-very-romantic reasons. But our reason no longer seems to exist.”

“What do you mean?” Was she backing out? He ached all over. When should he declare his love?

Her eyes swam with tears. “Well, think it through. My boardinghouse is full up and you must have a hundred entrants by now. We have the funds now to, to settle this Muybridge thing.”

His heart pounded with pain as he stared into her eyes. Had her love died before it was born?

“Cordy, so you don’t want to marry me?”