Will tugged on his coat sleeves and straightened his collar. The planning committee had outdone themselves. A temporary stage had been constructed in the center of town. Lanterns had been strung from the upper beams, and red and white bunting decorated the lower railings.
After the success of the county fair a few weeks back, the town council had planned a smaller, more intimate gathering for the business owners and townspeople. He’d initially been skeptical of hosting another event so soon after the fair, but the business leaders had been adamant. For the past two weeks they’d been busy on a construction project located in front of the bank at the corner of First and Eden Streets. The project had been shrouded in secrecy, and Will anticipated the reveal.
Passing Booker & Son, he tipped his hat to Horace and Gus.
Gus spat his tobacco and cackled. “Folks around these parts sure do like a party.”
Will paused. “I didn’t notice you complaining when you won the horseshoe tournament at the last party.”
Horace elbowed his friend. “Came in first and second, the two of us. I’d have won except the sun was in my eyes.”
“The sun was in my eyes just as much,” Gus declared. “And it didn’t make me no never mind.”
“Oh, shut up, you old coot. You know I’ve always been sensitive to the sun.”
Will shook his head. These two never changed. They were always arguing and gossiping. They especially enjoyed sitting across from the jailhouse. Nothing made the two happier than watching a prisoner transfer.
“Are you going to the dance this evening?” Will asked. “There should be a good turnout.”
“Mebbe,” Horace said. “I was quite the dancer in my younger days.”
“You were a dancer in your drinking days, anyway.” Gus chortled.
“Haven’t touched a drop in twenty years.”
“And we’re all grateful.” Gus threaded his fingers over his rounded stomach. “Any word on the next bride train?”
“Arrangements have been made for the next twelve women,” Will replied. “We’ll run out of eligible bachelors before long.”
“You’re turning Cowboy Creek into a regular thriving me-trop-o-lis.” Gus exaggerated each syllable.
“That’s the plan.”
“What are you going to do after that?”
“I have an idea or two.” Will leaned one shoulder against the boardwalk support beam and stared down Eden Street. “There’s an election next year. Might consider running for governor.”
“You don’t think small, do you, Mr. Canfield? Or should I call you Governor Canfield?”
“Somebody has to run for governor. Why not me?”
“Fair enough, fair enough.” Horace rocked back. “A man like you always has a plan. You ought to be more like Gus and me. Just float on the wind like a feather.”
“More like a buffalo,” Gus badgered his friend. “Your backside is practically nailed to that chair. You only move for breakfast, supper and dinner. Some feather.”
“No more talk of the future.” Will held up his hands in surrender. If he let those two keep blabbering, they’d talk his ear off. “Tonight, I plan on enjoying the evening. Nothing more, nothing less. You should do the same.”
The two kept up their good-natured bickering long after he walked away. Their voices drifted above the familiar sounds of the thriving town. Crossing the street, Will paused in front of Aunt Mae’s boardinghouse and savored the wafting scent of fried chicken. While he enjoyed the fare served at the restaurant in the Cattleman Hotel, no one prepared comfort food quite like Aunt Mae.
Distracted by the enticing aroma, he nearly collided with Prudence Haywood as she exited the newspaper office. She caught sight of him and started, clutching the cameo at her throat. Will narrowed his gaze. Two weeks before, the Murdoch Gang had robbed the church in broad daylight. They’d stolen Leah’s wedding ring, Pippa’s ruby earrings and the men’s wallets. He was certain Prudence had gotten her cameo stolen, as well.
“Mrs. Haywood.” He paused, leaning on his walking stick.
She had a way of carrying herself that left him on edge, though he couldn’t put his finger on the source of his unease. With no way of avoiding her, he tipped his hat in greeting.
She was one of the brides from the first train. Neither she nor the reverend’s daughter had courted any of the men in town. When Prudence had immediately taken a job at the newspaper, he’d thought there was something brewing between her and D.B. Burrows, the newspaper editor. Yet weeks had passed with no sign of a romantic attachment between the two.
She was a full head shorter than Will, with wavy auburn hair and hazel eyes. He couldn’t help but picture a cap of wild curls and stunning green eyes. While Tomasina was pure spitfire, Prudence was much less animated. She had one of those faces that tended to look disagreeable.
“Lovely evening,” he greeted her. She’d been widowed. He really should be more charitable in his thinking. The war had taken so many men. Perhaps she simply wasn’t ready to marry again. “Is Mr. Burrows available?”
As though prompted by the inquiry, D.B. appeared in the doorway. He flipped the sign to read Closed, stepped outside and set about locking the door.
“Mr. Canfield,” he said, throwing back his shoulders. “Come to play king of the party, have you?”
Will stifled a groan.
Though he carried a slight paunch, D.B. dressed sharply and was well-spoken. Charming, even, in an oily sort of way. The man’s appearance didn’t help the slightly unpleasant impression he inspired. He looked like a black-and-white daguerreotype come to life. He tended to wear dark suits with bright, white shirts. His bushy dark muttonchops highlighted his pale complexion, and his jet-black hair only emphasized his disquieting façade.
Since D.B. had taken over as editor of the newspaper, there’d been a prickly quality about the man. He’d seemed eager enough when they’d hired him some months back. Since that time, the newspaper editorials concerning Cowboy Creek had been less than flattering. While Will respected the man’s right to organize the paper as he pleased, the stories had lacked balance recently.
“There are no kings in America, or hadn’t you gotten the word?” Will kept his tone neutral. There was always a challenging edge about D.B. “I’m here to enjoy the festivities. Same as everyone else.”
“And yet we have you to thank for the success of the town, don’t we? Without you, Cowboy Creek is just another watering hole in the middle of nowhere.”
“We have the Union Pacific depot to thank for that.” Will shrugged. “It was the luck of the draw.”
Out West, having a railroad depot almost guaranteed the success of a town. Though a few stagecoaches remained in operation, that mode of transportation was becoming a thing of the past. Railroad cars were full of untapped potential. They were pulling the country together like a thousand threads, and he’d be a fool to squander that potential.
Mr. Burrows puffed up like a bantam hen guarding an egg. “I don’t believe in luck. Wouldn’t surprise me if a few palms were greased in the process.”
“Not by me,” Will said easily.
This wasn’t the first time he’d heard rumors of corruption surrounding the Union Pacific railroad. Towns lived and died based on the route of railroad lines and the placement of depots. When there were great sums of money in the balance, bribery always thrived.
“We won the depot,” he reiterated, “fair and square. This route was the most direct.”
“If you say so.”
Mrs. Haywood and the man exchanged a glance. Fidgeting, she touched the cameo at her throat once more. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the two of them had met each other before settling in Cowboy Creek. They’d certainly formed a comfortable working relationship in a short amount of time. They also had a silent way of signaling each other.
Yet if they knew one another, why would Mrs. Haywood travel as a prospective bride? Why hide their relationship—whatever it may be? Obviously he was letting his imagination run away with him.
D.B. flipped back his suit coat and stuck one hand in his pocket. “The new wave of prosperity must suit you. You own half the buildings in town, after all.”
Since the man was determined to be rude, Will said, “You’ve been running a lot of front-page stories about the Murdoch Gang lately.”
“They robbed a church. Zeb is on his deathbed in the jailhouse.” The man guffawed. “That’s news. My job is selling papers.”
“Might have been nice if you printed a story about the success of the county fair.”
“Except it wasn’t really a county fair, was it?” the gentleman retorted. “You and your lot decided Cowboy Creek was the county center. Never mind about everyone else.”
“I’d think you’d be pleased at the success of the town. It’s your home, after all.”
“What an honor it is to live here.” D.B. flushed. “Positively warms my heart to be a part of such a thriving community.”
Prudence snickered.
Will glanced between the two. There was most definitely an undercurrent he didn’t understand. Was D.B. simply capitalizing on the recent troubles caused by the Murdoch Gang to sell his papers, or was there something more sinister at work? With the ever-present danger hovering around them, this town sure didn’t need any more negative publicity.
He’d speak with Daniel and Noah at the next opportunity and make a few inquiries about the man. And Prudence, as well. Following his instincts had served him well in the past.
His instincts called for a change of subject. “Are the two of you attending the dance this evening?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” D.B. offered a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I paid ten dollars for the privilege.”
“The event is free.” Will tilted his head. “I don’t follow.”
“Remmy Hagermann demanded ten dollars from all the businesses in town. They’re putting together a presentation for you, Daniel and Noah. Didn’t you wonder what all the fuss was about? They’re building some sort of monument in your honor with a plaque and everything.”
Will smothered his annoyance. “Not much of a surprise anymore now, is it?”
“I hope I didn’t ruin the grand unveiling.” D.B. laid a hand over his chest and assumed an expression of mock remorse. “At least now you have time to prepare a speech.”
The man clearly wanted a rise out of him.
“Your donation is greatly appreciated. I’ll be sure and call you out personally.”
“You do that.”
The cameo caught his attention once more. “What a lovely piece of jewelry, Mrs. Haywood. Is it new? I thought your broach was stolen.”
Prudence’s mouth opened and closed, giving her the appearance of a fish out of water. “I hid it when the robbers arrived.”
“But you claimed it was stolen. I was certain I heard you lamenting the loss.”
She’d done more than lament. She’d demanded reparations for the lack of security in town. An order she’d made in no uncertain terms.
“The other ladies had lost their jewelry.” Her eyes flashed with challenge. “I was embarrassed I’d hidden mine.”
“There’s no law against hiding a piece of jewelry from outlaws,” D.B. blustered. “If you’d been protecting the town properly, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“I’m pleased Mrs. Haywood was able to save such a precious heirloom.” Will tipped his hat once more. “Mr. Burrows.”
There was definitely something odd about those two. As he pondered the strange encounter, he caught sight of Amos Godwin and his heavily pregnant wife, Opal.
The Godwins owned the boot and shoe shop in town and lived above their store. Mrs. Godwin was eight months pregnant and painfully thin apart from her rounded belly. She was never particularly hearty, and the pregnancy had taken its toll. Though a kind woman, there wasn’t much color about her. She tended to dress in drab shades that washed out her complexion. Though her eyes were a lively shade of brown, the dark circles beneath them distracted from the color. Today she’d pulled her brown hair back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The severe style only highlighted her thin neck.
She rarely worked beside her husband in their shoe shop these days, though she often had her feet up in the corner in deference to her condition. Outside of the shop, Mr. Godwin seldom left his wife’s side, hovering over her and ensuring she was comfortable. The pair were hardworking and devoted to each other. All in all they were a fine addition to the community.
“Mrs. Godwin, you’re looking well,” he said. “Is that a new lace collar you’re wearing today?”
“It is.” His compliment drew some color into her sunken cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Canfield.”
“I trust you’re feeling well. Won’t be long before the population of Cowboy Creek increases by one.”
Mr. Godwin took his wife’s hand. “Not long at all. She insisted on coming out for the celebration tonight.” He cast a concerned look at his wife. “Promise you’ll tell me if you get tired.”
“I will. I’ve been feeling ever so much better since Leah—I mean Mrs. Gardner—arrived. She’s given me all sorts of help and advice.”
Her husband wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Leah will make a fine midwife for the town.”
Opal blushed again. “She’s become a good friend.”
“I don’t mean to bother you on such an occasion,” Mr. Godwin began, “but I wondered if you’d look into something for me.”
“Anything,” Will replied amicably.
“As you know, when Opal and I purchased our shop, we bought the space next door, as well. Opal’s father lent us the money. He thought it was a good investment, and he was correct. Someone has approached us to rent the building.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“Yes. Except the bank is questioning our deed.”
Will stilled. “What do you mean?”
“Just that. The bank refuses to go forward with the transaction until they authenticate the deed.”
“There has to be some mistake.” Will and the town founders had been scrupulous with their transactions. Every business deal had been overseen by lawyers and filed with the county. There was no reason for the bank to question the deeds. “I’ll speak with someone at the land offices first thing Monday morning and straighten out the problem.”
Relief flitted across Opal’s wan face. “I knew you’d help.”
“Absolutely. You shouldn’t be worrying about anything in your condition, Mrs. Godwin. I promise you, I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Seeking to distract the young couple from needless worry, he asked, “And who is looking to rent the shop?”
“Hannah Taggart.”
“The preacher’s daughter?”
“Yes. She wants to open a dress shop in town. With all the new brides arriving, we’ll need a milliner before long. I have a cousin who might be interested. She works in a shop in St. Louis.”
“Of course, um, yes. A lady can never have too many hats.”
How was Hannah getting the money for the shop? She’d approached him about the idea a few days ago, but he’d been reluctant to give her an answer until he saw more of her designs.
Mrs. Godwin cleared her throat. “I believe Miss Stone is partnering with Hannah in the business.”
“Tomasina Stone?”
A hesitant nod. “Yes.”
He’d obviously assumed a fierce expression, because Opal was looking absolutely terrified.
Will relaxed his features. “I think that’s wonderful. I’ll look into the deed and contact Miss Stone and Miss Taggart personally. I’m happy to hear the women in town are banding together in their endeavors.”
“I thought so, too.”
A certain redheaded spitfire might have mentioned her intentions earlier.
Mr. Godwin shook his hand. “I appreciate your help straightening out the deed.”
“Anything.” He bent in a shallow bow. “Mrs. Godwin, I hope you’ll save me a dance.”
His offer was hollow. She’d never accept and, because of his injured leg, he didn’t dance anymore.
She stifled her giggle with one hand. “What a pair we’d make. Me with my stomach and you with your walking stick.”
He ignored the touch of melancholy her words inspired. He’d survived when others hadn’t. If he never danced again, it was a small price to pay.
“We’d clear the floor.”
With a touch on his brim he set off for the spot where the stage had been set. Unlike at the fair where comfort was the order of the day, the few ladies present were decked out in their finest attire. The enormous bell skirts popular before the war had been tamed by practicality. The war had sobered the nation. Nothing was quite as flamboyant as before. In this one instance he was grateful. The enormous hoop skirts had bordered on ridiculous with ladies barely able to navigate doorways. He much preferred the more restrained silhouette.
A glimmer of red caught his attention, and he halted. A tumble of curls cascaded down the back of a shimmering pear-green gown with a gossamer-embroidered overlay.
The vision turned, presenting him with her profile. His breath caught. Blinking, he tugged on his tie and swallowed around the lump in his throat. Feeling as though he’d been kicked in the gut, he took a step back.
Tomasina.
He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even move. Here was the indomitable Tomasina Stone as he’d never seen her before.