Whispers on the Wind (A Prairie Hearts Novel Book 5) (26 page)

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

H
unter surveyed the gussied up Bright Nugget, feeling a rush of satisfaction for a job well done. He and Kendall had cleaned the place to its utmost. Thank goodness they’d so recently swapped out the floor shavings, because now the place smelled better than most businesses on Main Street. They’d hung large blankets across both front windows so men couldn’t look in, as well as over the staircase so the ladies couldn’t see the doors of the upstairs rooms. No use making them uncomfortable. They’d done the same with the balcony that overlooked the downstairs, and rehearsed their explanation as wanting to give Dichelle a private place to make her entrance. All the whiskey bottles had been placed in the storeroom, spittoons removed, pumpkins and old cornhusks added for decorations.

They were ready.

He glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes until they’d open the doors and start seating. A small group of women waited on the boardwalk outside, their chatter and laughter audible. Tabitha was not among them. He tried not to let her absence bother him. Since she’d left him standing in the bank, the kiss that was meant to free him from her spell had intensified in his memory. It was all he could think about.

In a few swift strides, he crossed the room and went to the stove in the back to make sure at least two of the seven borrowed coffeepots were brewing.

Philomena looked up at his approach. She’d dressed in a high-necked white blouse he’d never seen before, and a demure black skirt. There wasn’t an inch of skin exposed that wasn’t supposed to be.

He smiled. “You look nice. Are those your clothes?”

She returned his smile, appearing a little self-conscious. “I borrowed them from Daisy.”

He didn’t know much about Daisy, but he was glad Philomena had a friend to turn to. “Everything set?”

“They are on my end,” she replied. Two trays of mugs were set on a table she’d pulled close to the stove, as well as several platters of cookies. “We owe Maude for the baking, when you get a chance.”

“I’ll settle up tomorrow. Wait until most of the women are seated before you ask any if they’d care for a beverage.” He chuckled. “I doubt any will belly up to the bar. Kendall will be back here helping you.”

She nodded. “Stop worrying, Hunter. I know how to pour a coffeepot and carry a tray.”

She was right. He needed to relax.

Kendall banged through the back door almost mowing Hunter over, the large trash barrel that belonged behind the bar in his arms. His hair hung down in his sweaty face.

“You need to clean up, Kendall!” Hunter said, trying to hide the disgust he felt. “Get up to your room and change, wash your face, and comb your hair.”

“I’m going. I’m going.”

“I hope so. We don’t want to scare the ladies the minute they walk through the door. Make it fast. As soon as Farley arrives and starts the music, I’ll open the doors. Let Dichelle know the show will begin in about thirty minutes.”

Hunter glanced at the door. “Where is Farley, anyway?”

“Here!” The small man hurried through the back door, a bow tie Hunter had never seen before fastened around his neck. The fellow’s hair was uncharacteristically combed, slicked back, to be exact, and he wore Sunday go-to-meeting clothes.

“You look presentable, Farley. Thank you for taking the time to clean up. Now get over to the piano and start tickling the keys. Not too loud, mind you. The ladies will be chatting, and we want them to be able to hear each other.”

Farley saluted and hurried to the piano.

Excitement hummed in the air. Would Albert allow his wife to attend? Thom too? Chase, Charlie, or Gregory? The men had been very closemouthed about the whole affair after he’d assured them there would be no alcohol served. Just coffee and tea.

When Farley began a soft rendition of some song he didn’t recognize, Hunter took a deep breath and sauntered to the door. This reminded him of the evenings they had on the trail, when the wagon master, either him or Thorp, would gather everyone around the campfire and review the past few days and talk about the days to come, what obstacles they might incur, the weather, Indians. He was not frightened to speak to a crowd. His only nerves were caused by wondering if Tabitha would actually show up.

He opened the door. In the few minutes since he’d last checked, the crowd of excited-faced ladies had grown.

“Good day,” he said loudly, the crisp air snapping at his face. The snow from Wednesday afternoon was gone. He stepped out and fastened the swinging doors in the open position. “Welcome to the first ladies’ day at the Bright Nugget! We have a very nice show in store for you.”

He saw Maude and Beth standing in the crowd. As well as Violet, Mrs. Harrell, Nell Axelrose—Seth Cotton’s sister—standing with a woman he didn’t recognize. He did recognize the two women from New Meringue who’d bought Tabitha’s teacup. They gave a bright smile when they caught his eye, their faces rosy from the cold. In the very back, he spotted Tabitha and her girlfriends. His heart thwacked against his ribs.

“Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable. Philomena will be serving coffee and tea—on the house, of course.”

He stepped back and the women came forward, timidly at first, and then with confidence. When Tabitha and the rest were only a few feet away, he sought out her gaze, and was a bit confused by the tender expression she sent his way. He actually glanced around to make sure she was looking at him and not someone behind his shoulder. Her laughing eyes said she knew exactly what he was thinking.

When her group reached him, she stopped at his side and let her girlfriends move inside. “Mr. Wade,” she said, happiness ringing in her voice. “This is such an interesting concept you’ve brought to our town.”

“Oh?” He was still stymied that she was here, and addressing him in such a friendly manner. The warmth of her gaze left little to wonder about. “I’m just following your lead, Miss Canterbury—you know, the readings and all.”

She tipped her head and looked up at him through her lashes, a shy laugh escaping her throat.

What was going on? He’d never seen her so animated, or forward.

“I better get inside. Susanna and the rest are holding my seat.” She leaned in and whispered, her fingertips resting on his forearm, “I never dreamed I’d see the inside of a saloon, or attend a show in one, for that matter. How scandalous.”

Men stood in the doorways to their businesses, watching. Albert leaned against the side of the sheriff’s office, his arms crossed over his chest and Thom by his side. Seemed the men were stewing. They might not understand now, but they would tomorrow night when it was their chance to attend.

Hunter gave a wave, stepped inside to the music, then pulled the door closed. His gaze went directly in search of Tabitha. He found her a few rows from the back, gazing around as if the inside of the Bright Nugget were as interesting as Niagara Falls.

By the stove, Kendall, now spit clean and shiny, waved him back. After a quick glance to the blanketed balcony, Hunter hurried over.

“Help me pour this coffee,” Kendall barked. “Philomena has already gone through one pot just serving the first row. She’s taking out the cookie tray while we do this.”

Philomena rushed up to Hunter’s side. “A woman wants to know if she can have a shot of whiskey in her coffee.”

Hunter’s head jerked up. “What? Who?”

“I don’t know her, but the others sitting around her who heard what she’d asked for all nodded like they were going to ask for the same. When I told her all we were serving was coffee, tea, and cookies she asked what kind of a saloon we were running.”

A snag he hadn’t anticipated. It wouldn’t be prudent for the women to return home tipsy, with the scent of whiskey on their breaths—not after he’d given his word. His plans for a packed house on Saturday night might be ruined.

“What’re we gonna do, Hunter?” Kendall’s voice shook with fear.

“One thing we’re not going to do is anger all the men of Logan Meadows. I’ll take care of this. Show me to the woman, Philomena.”

Hunter hunkered down to speak quietly to the portly woman. “My waitress said you asked for something a bit stronger than coffee. I’m sorry, but today we’re not serving spirits.”

Her mouth pulled down. “No? Why not? Isn’t this a saloon?” her voice rang out. “My man drinks whiskey here all the time. I want equal rights!” She punctuated the end of her sentence with a stomp of her sturdy black boot on the wooden floor.

A murmur went around the room and Hunter knew if he didn’t do something quickly they’d have a mutiny on their hands. He just didn’t know what he should do.

“Hush up!” Violet called. “Don’t make trouble fer my grandson!”

Philomena appeared at his back with the cookie tray.

He stood and looked around. “Didn’t think you’d want something other than coffee or tea. We didn’t order extra whiskey for today, so we don’t have enough to serve.”
Sort of true.
And your men would have my hide if I did.
“Let’s see how the afternoon goes, and we’ll know better for the next show. I’m sorry—but that’s the best I can do.”

He snatched the tray from Philomena and held it out. “Cookie?”

The hefty woman muttered angrily, then patted her moist forehead with a handkerchief she’d withdrawn from her bag. “I can’t believe this!” she went on, a scowl plastered on her face. “Women always get the short end of the stick.”

Tabitha stood, directing a look his way. “May I please speak, Mr. Wade?”

Relieved, Hunter nodded.

“Ladies, let’s not ruin this fine chance Mr. Wade and Mr. Martin have presented us. I, for one, do not care to imbibe in anything stronger than a cup of coffee with my cookie. Your husbands and brothers are just waiting for any excuse to nix future shows. Let’s not give them reason to do so. After today’s performance, I’m sure Mr. Wade and Mr. Martin will appraise the situation and in the future be better equipped to serve us. As long as there is a next time. It all depends on us.”

The crowd of women sat quietly, listening to Tabitha, their faces thoughtful. Some nodded, while others remained skeptical.

“I wonder who they will bring in next. A poet? Or perhaps a small play? Think about it. There are unlimited possibilities, if we don’t ruin them before they get started.”

“Why don’t you bring a poet or play into your shop, Tabitha?” a woman asked from the last row of chairs. “Like you do for the reading?”

“For one, I don’t have this kind of space.” She waved her arm around. “And for another, I can’t afford such an endeavor. You don’t think a professional singer like Miss Bastianelli travels around for free, do you? I’m sure Mr. Wade and Mr. Martin are paying her a pretty penny to perform in the Bright Nugget. And giving us a showing for free is very generous! I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m grateful they have. If I had any menfolk in my family, I’d make sure they made the performance on Saturday night.”

She looked at him and smiled, making a flash of gratitude laced with more than abundant desire snake down his spine.

“Oh, you would, would you?” an unfamiliar voice rang out from the doorway.

Hunter turned to see a tall woman who resembled Tabitha herself. Roberta Brown stood at her side.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

A
t first, Tabitha thought she was seeing things. It had been just over a year since she’d seen her mother, and having her suddenly appear in Logan Meadows, in the Bright Nugget no less, was just too much to believe. Tabitha’s joy over her mother’s sudden appearance was squelched the moment their gazes collided.

Her mother took a step forward, followed by Aunt Roberta. “Tabitha!” she barked out. “What on earth are you doing? Are you now a spokesperson for this . . . this . . . vile den of sin?”

All the women who’d been listening to Tabitha speak the moment before, looked from her mother to her, their heads moving in unison, waiting to see how she would respond.

“No, Mother, I’m not a spokesperson for the Bright Nugget. I just want everyone to realize what we stand to lose if they make a fuss after our first step of progress as women!”

“You call this progress?” Aunt Roberta bit out. She looked through the women until she spotted her daughter. “Hannah, you come along with Tabitha right this moment. No self-respecting woman would be caught dead in here. We’re leaving at once!”

A grumble went around the room.

Hannah bolted to her feet with an expression Tabitha knew all too well. Her cousin was ready to do battle. Quickly, Tabitha raised her hand, squelching Hannah’s snappy comeback. This was her war to fight.

“Mother, Aunt Roberta, where we go to watch a singer perform does
not
determine what kind of women we are.” She was amazed at how steady her words sounded despite the torturous quakes that rocked her insides. Growing up, she’d never been very good at going up against her mother. Seemed things hadn’t changed a bit. “If you’d like to come take a seat, I believe the show is ready to begin.”

“I do
not
wish to take a seat! You are leaving with me this instant and returning to New York where your father and I can keep an eye on you! Giving you your freedom has only brought you trouble—and now shame.”

Tabitha almost laughed. This crazy conversation might be funny if it weren’t playing out in front of the majority of the women who lived in this town. Embarrassment that Hunter had to witness such a scene was the most disturbing of all. Since her talk with Dichelle on Wednesday, he’d pervaded her thoughts. She felt more than saw him move to her side.

“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Mother. I’m my
own
woman. You can’t
make
me do something against my will.”

A soft round of applause broke out, bringing a fresh surge of humiliation to Tabitha and a frown to her mother’s lips.

Her mother, used to winning all her arguments with her husband, and a majority with Tabitha, straightened to her full height, her back straight, her chin jutted. Once she set her mind on something, there was no changing it. “I most certainly can! You’re my daughter. I gave you life. Mr. Brackstead has yet to marry. He’s forgiven you for running off, and will go ahead and marry you even though you embarrassed him fully three years ago with your outright refusal. He’s a good match for you, Tabitha! Established and strong. You’re twenty-nine! Hardly the girl you once were, so stop this foolishness this instant!” She sighed heavily, her hands gripped at her sides. “I’ve purchased your train ticket and Frank has agreed to handle your shop until somebody buys it. You’re a spinster, honey. I didn’t intend to be mean, but I didn’t expect to find you speaking on the behalf of a tavern.” She shook her head as if in shame. “Your options have evaporated away just like your youth that you so foolishly wasted in libraries, bookstores, and reading in your room!”

Tabitha couldn’t believe this was happening. Mortification paralyzed her tongue. She’d never live this down. She could hear Hunter beside her, his breathing shivering with anger.

Her mother took a step forward, her hand outstretched. “I love you, Tabitha. That’s the only reason why I even considered making the grueling trip here. I only want what’s best. Be assured, I will not leave Logan Meadows without you by my side.”

How could anyone be so heartless! Her mother, besmirching her in front of everyone? She’d done just fine since moving here. Her mother was delusional to think otherwise. Tabitha felt her back straighten and could hardly hear for the blood pounding in her ears.

“You’re wrong! I’ve made a good life here in Logan Meadows. I’ll never return to New York. I’ve built my shop. I’ve handled my own finances. And if you must know, I’m not a spinster anymore! Or soon not to be; I’m-I’m—engaged!”

“What?” Aunt Roberta cried.

“Yes, Mr. Wade and I are getting married. We were saving the surprise until after the show today, but now it’s out.”

At her side, Hunter sputtered out a surprised cough. It felt as if the floor had given way and she was tumbling uncontrollably into a black bottomless pit she’d never crawl out of. Why had her mother wrecked everything? She couldn’t look at Hunter, or anyone else for that matter.

“No!” her mother barked. “You can’t be serious!”

“I’m totally serious, Mother! You couldn’t have planned this visit any better. You’ll be here for the wedding—tomorrow.”

Her mother inhaled sharply and Aunt Roberta had to grasp her arm to keep her from sinking to the floor.

Tabitha glanced at Hunter and was taken aback by the anger in his eyes. He was furious with her for trapping him, but his noble nature wouldn’t let him expose her falsehood. For that, she was grateful.

More than a few surprised gasps were followed by soft, embarrassed murmurs. Then whispers behind hands above wide, shocked eyes. The crowd looked from him to her and then her mother and aunt still standing at the door. If the town was looking for fodder, she’d just filled their troughs for years to come.

Mrs. Hollyhock clapped her hands together in delight.
At least someone is happy.

Hunter remained quiet, strong, and resolute at her side, and that alone gave her courage. The depth of what he was doing for her by going along with her outrageous falsehood, even for a few minutes until she could figure out how to fix the mess she’d just made, was astounding. He’d delivered babies, helped widows, saved Violet from a stampeding Clementine and her from an angry skunk. Who knew how many countless other times he’d rushed in to the rescue. His character was to stand up for the downtrodden—and that was exactly how she felt after her mother’s brazen attack. Of course, really going through with it wasn’t an option. After tonight, when things calmed down, she’d tell her mother the truth and send her home. Then Tabitha would live the rest of her days here in semi-shame for making up such an outrageous lie.

Hunter laid his arm across her shoulders. “I guess the secret is out, Tabby,” he said with a crooked smile, his voice deeper than she’d ever heard it. When she looked up, he looped a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Personally, I’m glad. I’ve had a difficult time keeping the good news quiet.”

Her mother’s face went deadly white. “Tell me you’re not really meant to marry this Western ruffian. This saloon owner . . . This, this . . . You’ve been raised properly. Think about the consequences. You have a perfectly good suitor waiting for your return . . .” Her voice trailed away.

Tabitha felt a moment of pity for her mother. Her ashen face stark against the dark wooden wall of the saloon brought a round of disappointment that Tabitha couldn’t be what her mother wanted.

She turned to Hunter, a tangle of emotions inside. “You best go on with the show, Hunter,” she said softly, only for his ears. “If I don’t leave with her, she won’t go either. All the women will be disappointed.”

He searched her eyes. He didn’t look angry, he looked concerned. “You sure?”

She nodded and turned, but he caught her arm. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, we’ll talk later,” she replied, knowing at that time he’d decline, and she’d have to admit her wrongdoing. At least he’d saved her the embarrassment of doing so in front of everyone.

Kendall loudly cleared his throat.

Before she knew what he was up to, Hunter kissed her cheek. “Okay, I’ll see you directly after the show. In the bookstore.”

Hunter looked over and smiled at her mother, a look of devilment behind his grin. “You sure you’d not like to hear Miss Bastianelli, Mother? She puts on a good show.”

Her mother’s mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water, no sound coming forth. Tabitha realized she’d never before had a handsome man doing battle for her. Just like a novel—a love story, that always ended well. Too bad reality would turn out much differently.