Hazelanne (Widows of Wildcat Ridge Book 15) Page 7

  “Shall we go inside?” Brice waved a hand toward the door.

  “Of course.” She shook her head and laughed. “I’m sorry to act surprised. Good afternoon, Brice. How have you been?” She turned toward the door he’d opened and stepped into the Crystal Café. Scents of cooked meat and yeasty bread surrounded her, and she breathed them in. The fact she hadn’t put out the effort to prepare the food made the scent all the more special. Her plan had been to wait until he finished eating to order her meal so she didn’t waste time chewing and swallowing. But the smells tempted her to change that plan. She glanced over her shoulder. “Where should we sit?”

  “Don’t care.” Pulling off his hat, he stepped to the closest table and scooted out a chair. “Please sit.” Then he glanced around. “Garnet.”

  A woman with light brown hair looked up and waved. “Howdy, Brice. I’ll put in your order right away. Where’s Harry?”

  “Right behind me.”

  “All right. Give me three minutes.”

  Hazelanne sat and did her best to hide her disappointment that she couldn’t take care of this task on his behalf. At least she’d learn what comprised his favorite meal.

  “Are you eating?” Brice dropped into a chair and rested his forearms on the table .

  “Not right now.” She set her reticule in her lap and wrapped the cord around a finger.

  “You look real pretty, Hazelanne.”

  The fact he noticed the extra care she’d taken produced a smile. “Thank you. How was your week?”

  Shaking his head, he waved a hand. “My weeks are all the same. Don’t even waste the time on that question.” He leaned forward. “I want to hear about how you’re doing at the ranch. I’ve been worried about you living out in the countryside in a place I’ve never even seen. Tell me about it so I can picture it in my mind.”

  Should she speak the truth? Or would he worry even more? “The ranch is about ten acres with a barn, a couple of sheds, and a four-room, log cabin…well five rooms, if you count the lean-to I use for doing laundry.”

  “Animals?” He glanced up and nodded as the stage driver entered and walked toward the counter.

  The bell over the door jingled.

  Hazelanne dragged her gaze from Brice’s face to smile at the wrinkle-faced man who walked with a slight limp.

  The man tipped a finger on the brim of his hat before he removed it and hung it on a peg set in the wall.

  Then she looked back and spoke just to her husband. “Two dozen sheep, two horses, nine piglets, one sow, fourteen hens, and one rooster.”

  “Sounds like a menagerie.” He nodded as the plate containing a bowl of beef stew and two thick slices of bread smeared with butter slid in front of him.

  Garnet set down two ceramic mugs and filled them with steaming coffee then disappeared.

  Grateful for something to occupy her hands, Hazelanne reached for the sugar bowl and let a waterfall of white grains fall into her mug. “I think I miss taking care of my siblings, and I’ve transferred my attention to these animals. Before I moved here, I hadn’t tended a pet for years and years. But the chores aren’t hard.” Did she dare reveal the rest of that statement? After stirring the black liquid, she glanced up.

  Brice took a big bite of bread then stilled. His eyes widened. “My turn?”

  “No.” She sipped the bracing coffee and shook her head. “I wasn’t sure if I should admit that I like how much they depend on me. That they seem happy to see me each time I come close.” Almost under her breath, she finished her complete thought. “I like being needed.” When she looked up after her admission, she saw his bowl was empty and he waved to catch the owner’s eye. She grabbed the edge of the table. Their time couldn’t be over so soon.

  Garnet scurried over. “Yes?”

  “What kind of pie today?”

  “Apple and sour cherry.”

  “One of each. Thanks.”

  “Sure, Brice.” Garnet hurried to the counter.

  He winked across the table. “I don’t feel right eating in front of you. Besides, you deserve the treat I didn’t buy you last week.”

  Hazelanne glanced at the clock on the wall and wanted to scream. Half their time was over. “We need to figure out how to get you to the bank before it closes on Saturday to add you to my account. I’ve already changed my name, and the judge verified it for the bank owner.”

  His expression tightened. “No need. That money is yours. My account is in a Park City bank.”

  “Is that where you live?” Odd she’d not thought to ask before.

  “I rent a room, but I’m hardly there.”

  “Should I know where?” She cupped her hands around her mug.

  “Nah, if you need to contact me, use the Wells Fargo office to relay the message. Telegrams are the fastest communication.”

  Spoken by someone who probably uses the service for free. “All right.” Was he being evasive or just economical with his answers?

  Garnet returned with the dessert and set them at the edge of the table. “You must have decided who gets which. Enjoy.”

  Brice reached for the apple then paused and pointed his fork. “Did you want this one?”

  Gripping the edge of the sour cherry plate, Hazelanne slid it toward her. “Cherry is fine.”

  His gaze narrowed, and he set his hand on the table only inches from hers. “What happened to your thumb?”

  On reflex, she jammed it under the plate to hide her ugly blackened nail. Why don’t I own a pair of dainty gloves? “I smashed it with a hammer while re-hanging a shutter.” She forked up a piece of flaky pie crust oozing with juicy fruit and popped it in her mouth. The sweet-sour flavor burst on her tongue, and she closed her eyes at the pie’s perfectness.

  “Don’t you dare sigh.”

  When she opened her eyes, she spied Brice’s pinched expression. A couple seconds passed before she realized her own expression might have sent his thoughts elsewhere.

  “I hate the idea of you using tools when you’re all alone.” He pointed at her with his fork. “Haven’t you ever heard of a person whacking himself on the head and knocking himself out cold?”

  Actually, she’d never heard of such an incident. But she’d enjoyed watching the changes in his expression as he talked. His overblown concern touched her heart, but her situation wouldn’t change, so she had to make the best of it. “No, but what a poor unfortunate accident that man had.”

  The driver stood from the counter and patted his stomach.

  Dread attacked Hazelanne’s body. Only moments remained of their time together. She scanned his face, needing to implant every freckle or scar into her mind. What she learned here had to sustain her until their next meeting.

  “What can I do to make your life easier?”

  Daring to take what she needed, she reached a hand across the table and rested it on his free one. His skin was warm, and the hairs on the back of his hand tickled her palm. The touch connected them, for however many moments were left, and she held tight. “If you could find a book on raising sheep, I’d feel easier about the upcoming lambing season.”

  “You’ve got it.” He rotated his hand to clasp her fingers and squeezed. “A book seems like only a small help. What else?”

  “Since you’ll be in a book store, maybe one on weaving? Cl—” She stopped from uttering that man’s name. “Um, an order for Army blankets is still pending. I want to fill it and provide myself with a steady income.”

  The driver walked behind Brice to the door and called his name.

  Without turning, Brice lifted a hand. “In a minute, Harry. Hazelanne, you’re tending the animals and working a contract for something you don’t know how to do?”

  Soaking up his caring tone like a dry sponge, she bit back a smile. “I’m teaching myself weaving in the evenings.”

  “When do you rest?” He ran a thumb over the ridge of her knuckles. His brows bunched.

  “Gotta go, Brice.”

  “Right behind you
, Harry.” He shot to his feet, grabbed coins from his pocket, and set them on the table. “That’s enough to cover both our orders. The schedule calls, and she’s a demanding mistress.”

  Hazelanne gasped. Her response was more for the loss of his touch than for the surprising word.

  “Sorry for my crudeness. The saying’s one we use all the time in my line of work, and I just didn’t think.” He dragged his steps toward the door. “I’ve enjoyed our visit. See you again right here next Saturday?”

  The lump in her throat threatened to cut off her words. But she had to say something. “Of course. Travel safe, Brice.”

  Grasping the knob, he held open the door. “Please, get some rest, Hazelanne. Until Saturday.” His gaze scanned her face then he turned and was gone.

  Hazelanne slumped back in the chair and closed her eyes. She wanted to replay every word he said while the conversation was still fresh. But a joke and a laugh from the other side of the room provided a distraction and scattered her thoughts. Straightening, she broke apart the remaining pie into small bites and finished it between sips of the now-tepid coffee. Being quick didn’t matter. Now, the next week stretched ahead long and lonely.

  On the second Saturday morning, she dashed around the house, looking for enough hairpins to secure her hair in a bun. Unfortunately, at last night’s feeding, she noticed Blackie’s shallow breathing and sweating. He rubbed the right side of his belly against the stall wall. Figuring he’d eaten a weed that gave him a belly ache, she spent hours walking him in the middle of the barn and encouraging him to drink lots of water. Without spearmint leaves that she’d remembered someone in Evanston say helped with colic, she hand-fed oats to the gelding, hoping to diffuse the toxins. By the time his breathing returned to normal and he no longer sweated, the sky to the east was lightening to gray.

  With only four hours of sleep, she’d staggered out of bed and slugged through the chores. Now, she was running late and would have to wear her hair down in a long plait. Without knowing if Biscuit was trained to the harness, she’d chosen her fullest skirt and would travel on horseback. A final look in the mirror displayed a woman who needed a good night’s sleep…or two. She whooshed out an exasperated breath and ran toward the barn. Once she got to town and tied Biscuit to a hitching rail, she’d have to remember to pinch her cheeks to add needed color. Then maybe Brice wouldn’t notice.

  At least on horseback, she could canter and cut the travel time. The rhythmic gait enlivened her tired body, and she felt the tension flow from her muscles. Just after she guided Biscuit over the Moose Creek bridge, she spotted movement at the entrance to the Crane Hotel.

  A pudgy man dressed in a gray-and-black plaid suit stepped onto the boardwalk and waved a hand. “Missus Oliphant.”

  Although the odious name was no longer hers, she doubted the businessman knew of her second marriage and new last name. Redirecting the horse toward the multi-story hotel, she put pressure on the reins. “Whoa, Biscuit. You wished to speak with me, Mister Crane?”

  “You are a hard woman to track down.” He puffed on the fat cigar in his left hand and blew out a stream of smoke.

  Tossing her head, Biscuit danced and sidestepped.

  “Really?” To keep from putting tension on the reins and spooking the horse further, she gripped the pommel instead. Did the man have no horse sense to realize the animal reacted to his smelly cigar smoke?

  “Oh yes, I have been looking for Clay Oliphant’s widow since the day of the funeral.”

  Hearing her late husband’s name made her jaw clench. Whatever dealings this man had with Clay couldn’t impact her. She’d been through all of Clay’s ledgers and papers in his desk and never once had she read the name Mortimer Crane. “I didn’t realize you’d attended the funeral of your Gold King Mine employees. I never saw you there.”

  “That subject is neither here or there.” He waved a fat-fingered hand and strutted on the wooden boardwalk, making sharp thudding sounds. “We need to talk about another matter. One that is quite serious.”

  How rude to start a conversation with an accusation. The only business she had with this man was the money in her account at his bank. She’d been in to make a withdrawal a few days ago, and Miss Templeton mentioned nothing amiss with her account. “Is that so?”

  “Well, I have looked all over Wildcat Ridge, but people say you’re rarely here.” He gazed at the inch of visible stockinged leg over the top of her boot, a dark eyebrow inching higher.

  Certainly, an important man who owned several businesses in this town and the one that sprouted after he opened his new mine didn’t do his own searching. Why would he need to speak with her? “Sir, I live on a ranch to the northeast and have animals to care for.”

  He reached into a jacket pocket and snapped out a folded piece of paper. “I hold a mortgage on your late husband’s ranch.” He waved the paper. “As his widow, the debt is now yours.” He jammed a hand on his hip and jutted his face forward. “I want my money, and I want it at the end of the contract which is by May fifteenth. Or I’ll have the sheriff remove you from the land.”

  The short, pudgy man striking that pose reminded her of a toddler having a tantrum. All he needed do to complete the picture was stamp his foot. Then his words sunk in. Mortgage. Removal. Her stomach churned, and a trickle of perspiration ran down her spine. I’d have nowhere to go. What would happen to her precious animals? The ranch provided her with a home of her own and security. How could she give it up? “I know nothing about this document you claim is a mortgage.”

  “Being female, you must not understand business. A mortgage is a legal document that’s a record of a transaction between two people and is enforceable by the laws of this territory.” He stepped off the boardwalk and approached. “Your husband borrowed money and used his acreage as collateral. From what I’m told, the buildings aren’t worth much but land is always valuable. Especially land with a creek running through it.

  “Why isn’t a copy of this paper in my husband’s possession? He had a security box at your bank, and no such document was inside it.” Time ticked away and she had to get to the café. She held out a hand. “May I see this mortgage?”

  Stretching his arms high, he held up the sides of the paper but didn’t relinquish it.

  Leaning to the side, she scanned the pre-printed form with handwritten amounts—one that exceeded the bank balance Clay left—and dates. At the bottom was Clay’s signature. She recognized it from other documents she’d reviewed. Beneath his signatures were undecipherable scrawls of two other individuals. “Who were the witnesses? I can’t read the writing.” She grasped at anything to make this horrible mess go away.

  He shook his head, and the sun glimmered on the shiny surface. “I don’t remember. Probably bank employees.” He refolded the paper and stuffed it inside his jacket. I’m not responsible for your late husband’s poor bookkeeping.” He leaned forward, puffing out cigar smoke. “But I want my money and by the deadline. No extensions. As manager and owner of the bank, securing or collecting my mortgages is my right.” He scoffed. “I’m not surprised you’ve never seen the document. I doubt many drunkards have a reliable system.”

  “I do not have to listen to you maligning his reputation.”

  “But you are obligated to honor his debts.” He smirked. “Perhaps I’ll visit this land I own and see if another item of similar value is present.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I always have need for pretty women to spend time with the customers at my Gentlemen Only saloon.”

  How dare he make such an insinuation! Her blood roared in her ears. Using her boot heels, Hazelanne tapped Biscuit’s belly and angled the reins left. “Good day, Mister Crane.” She held Biscuit to a steady walk, not willing to give the oily man any indication of how he’d rattled her confidence. Riding abreast of the Last Chance Saloon, she spotted Brice pacing in front of the café and urged Biscuit into a trot.

  “There you are.”

  The echo of Crane’s taunting words hit.
“That’s right. I’m here.”

  Brice stepped forward and held Biscuit’s bridle. He stretched a hand toward her hiked-up skirt hem then stopped.

  Hazelanne dismounted and smoothed her skirt folds, making sure to cover her boots. Mostly, she focused on the task to stop her hands from shaking. Without waiting to see if he’d finished tying the horse, she stomped into the café and moved to the first empty table by the window she saw and sat.

  At the counter, the driver already ate from the plate in front of him.

  Taking several breaths, she fought for calm so her time together with Brice could be enjoyable. She didn’t want that encounter to ruin the precious time she’d looked forward to all week.

  Heavy footsteps approached, and a chair skittered on the floor. “What’s got into you, Hazelanne?” Brice dropped into the chair then he leaned forward and scanned her face. “Oh, sweetheart, you look so tired. Tell me what happened.”

  “Blackie had colic last night, and I spent hours keeping him on his feet.”

  “He’s okay now.”

  “Yeah, He stopped sweating and panting around two, or maybe it was three. And this morning he ate a half-portion of feed.”

  “Good to hear.” His gaze narrowed before he shook his head. “But that wasn’t it. Something else has gone wrong.”

  Just as she opened her mouth, she heard someone approach.

  “Howdy, folks. Two of the specials.” Garnet slid plates onto the table. “I’ll be back in a jiffy with the coffee.”

  Brice jabbed his fork toward her plate. “Eat at least five bites before you say another word.” Then he scooped a mound of food into his mouth. His gaze tracked her hand with the fork.

  Hazelanne didn’t know if she could swallow past the rock lodged in her throat. Was the mortgage Mortimer Crane held enforceable after the signer died? Especially since Clay obligated himself to that mortgage before she married him. Probably before she even answered his advertisement. Now she rued the day she ever begged Widow Schumaker to read through the Matrimonial News. She looked at the plate that brimmed with potatoes smothered in sausage gravy and green beans. The first bite was tough, but then hunger took over because she hadn’t eaten breakfast.