Chapter 12

12

" A re you sure you won't come down to supper?" Fran asked Emma.

They'd spent the late afternoon sequestered in the hotel room Edgar and his brothers had escorted them to. After a lovely hot bath in which she'd scrubbed away days of trail dust, Fran began to feel human again.

And then the dresses had arrived. Store-bought and prettier than anything Fran had had since she was a young girl, a deep green for her and a paler green for Emma. Had he meant them to be an apology? She didn't know.

They'd arrived via the front desk clerk, along with a note from Edgar requesting they join him for dinner.

Before he'd settled them at the hotel, Edgar had asked them not to leave the room. But she'd been able to ask the clerk for paper and an envelope and had asked the man to return in an hour for the missive she composed.

She probably shouldn't have taken the liberty. But she couldn't forget Edgar's obvious pain when he'd spoken of his mother's abandonment and the director of the Chicago orphanage. So she'd written to the institution on his behalf and asked if the woman was still there, and if so, to send details on what had happened back to Edgar in Bear Creek.

It was a long shot. No doubt the orphanage had changed directors or maybe the woman wouldn't even remember Edgar with all the children she must be helping. But Fran felt she had to try.

She doubted he would appreciate her interference. Knew he would likely hate that she'd done it.

But she would be in Calvin by then, too far away for him to complain to.

She prayed that he would get an answer that would give him some peace. That by knowing with a man's wisdom what he perhaps hadn't seen as a child, he could settle his mind over it.

If he wouldn't let her in, at least she could do this for him.

Now a light tap on the door shook her from her musings.

She cracked the door to find Edgar there, wearing his same cowboy garb, but with his hair and beard damp and his cheeks ruddy, like he'd just scrubbed up for supper.

His eyes took her in from the hem of her skirt to the top of her now-shining hair.

"You look…real good in that."

She flushed hot and reached up to touch the back of her hair. It had had to be a simple bun, because she'd lost some of her pins between all their outdoor adventures and had no way to acquire more.

But his appraisal made her feel she didn't look simple at all.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He looked to the room behind her. "Emma ready?"

"She doesn't feel up to going down for supper."

His eyes narrowed. "Is she sick? Didn't she like the dress?"

"I think she's just frightened. Still."

"Seb said she did great with the wagon." His statement seemed more like an argument than a question.

"Well, we're in town now."

She saw a muscle in his jaw tick. She could hear him silently accusing her of coddling her sister. "Tell her to get out here."

"No."

His eyes widened at her refusal.

She lowered her voice, glancing over her shoulder. Emma stood at the window, peeking out from behind the curtain, apparently ignoring them or unable to hear their low voices.

"I've seen how well your high-handedness works with Ricky. You were fighting again this afternoon?—"

He inhaled sharply and his eyes darkened. His frown deepened.

She tried cajoling. "Can't you ask one of the cowboys to stay and watch over Emma? Please?"

He looked like he was biting down on his back teeth again. "Fine."

"Fine," she repeated.

The moment hung tense between them. She thought perhaps he might want to kiss her again. But that was silly, wasn't it? Why would fighting make him want to do that?

He stomped down the hall and spoke to the tall cowboy standing at the end. She thought his name was John, but she hadn't learned all the cowboys' names yet.

The other man nodded, and Edgar returned to her. He tilted his chin down and raised his eyebrows, silently asking if she was satisfied.

She was. She took his arm, saying a quick goodbye to her sister over her shoulder.

Emma didn't reply.

Fran bit her lip as she followed him down the hall and past the cowboy, down the stairs to the hotel lobby.

She'd intended to stay compliant, try to convince him to give her a chance. And look how quickly she'd gone back to her quarrelsome self.

But she didn't want to push Emma, not when her sister had seemed slightly stronger after the adventure driving the wagon.

She blinked away thoughts of Emma. Fran should enjoy tonight. It might be her last decent meal in a while.

They descended the staircase and found the hotel restaurant crowded.

"The clerk said all these folks have been delayed by the train," Edgar murmured. "He promised they could seat us, though."

But when they were ushered to a table shared with two other folks, he went pale.

Edgar lost his appetite when the waiter seated him and Fran.

Right up next to RuthAnn Hurst and her daughter Melody. Edgar knew them from Bear Creek. RuthAnn had thrown Melody at him over and over again a couple years back. The mama hadn't accepted that he wasn't interested in her daughter.

What great companions to have for supper. Sure to make him look even more a fool in front of Fran.

"Good evening," Fran murmured as she settled into the seat.

He could barely take his eyes off her. Her dark hair shone clean and beautiful under the lamplight. And that green dress looked even better on her than he'd imagined when he'd seen it in the store window.

Mrs. Hurst's eyes widened when she caught sight of Edgar.

"Evening, Mrs. Hurst. Melody," he greeted. He could at least start the evening politely.

"Mr. White." RuthAnn's greeting was devoid of warmth, and her lips pinched white.

But Melody smiled at him. "Hi, Edgar."

A tall man joined the two ladies at the table meant for six. He balanced a toddler on his knee. The kid hadn't had his first birthday yet, judging by the lack of hair and drooly fingers-in-mouth smile.

"My husband, Beau," Melody introduced. "And Beau Jr."

Edgar nodded to the man. Well, good for Melody.

"And my wife, Fran."

He didn't even stumble over the word.

RuthAnn's eyes widened, and her lips seemed to pinch even more. Melody's eyes brightened with curiosity.

Luckily, the waiter interrupted them before RuthAnn could comment.

Fran ordered a potpie and a side of okra. Then she added on dessert. He found himself grinning. He could admire a woman who wasn't afraid to eat. At the White family dinners, the boisterous group often meant a person had to fend for themselves. Something told him Fran would fit right in with his family.

He cut that thought off before it could take him somewhere he didn't want to go.

On his other side, Melody listened to the waiter recite the daily specials.

"I guess I'll have the meatloaf…."

"Are you sure, Mellie?" her mother interrupted. "I've ordered it before and their portion is enormous. More than any one girl needs."

The older woman looked down the side of her nose at Fran, as if she was appalled by his wife ordering dessert.

Fran smiled at him, either ignoring or unaware of the slight. "After three days of trail fare, I'm hungry for a real meal." Ignoring it.

"You've been on the cattle drive with the men?" RuthAnn's incredulous gasp didn't seem to affect Fran at all.

He grinned at his wife.

Melody looked at her husband tentatively, but the man was distracted by the wiggling baby now reaching for his mustache.

"All right. I'll have the chicken," Melody told the waiter.

Her mother nodded approvingly.

The waiter left and RuthAnn turned on him. Or rather, on Fran.

"How long have you been married to this…cowboy?" she asked, voice falsely saccharine.

"Only a few days," Fran replied, exuding friendliness.

He tried to catch her eye, give her some kind of warning, but she'd turned toward the older woman and didn't see. He didn't know what would be worse. For Fran to admit their plans for the marriage or for word to get out more than it already had about his marriage.

"My Melody here had her cap set for him a couple of years ago."

"Mama!" Melody gasped, looking to her husband. The man seemed only mildly interested in the conversation, still wrestling the toddler on his lap.

Edgar hoped for the husband's and the kid's sake that their food arrived quickly. And that the kid was hungry.

"Until he told her off in front of the whole church. Said he wasn't interested in marrying anybody at all."

"Mama," Melody gasped, her face reddening. "Edgar, I'm sorry." She looked between him, her mama and her husband. Then to Fran. "It didn't happen like that at all."

Fran had her eyes on him. And she seemed to be brimming with mirth, barely holding back laughter.

"As I remember, it was you who had your cap set for me on Melody's behalf," Edgar drawled.

The older woman began to sputter.

"Seems like Melody's done pretty good for herself, though," he went on with a nod to the husband, who seemed content to watch all the drama. Smart man.

"Thank you, Edgar," Melody said. "Beau and I live in Boise and we're very happy. We're up for a visit with mama and were trying to get home on the train."

But RuthAnn wasn't done. She turned all the way to face Fran. "I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into, dear."

Fran's tiny smile was a warning to him . "Oh, I know all about Edgar's aversion to women."

"He's an uncouth, rough"—RuthAnn motioned to his head and he assumed his beard—"well, cowboy."

Fran looked at him, letting her eyes linger on his face a little longer than was polite.

Color crept into his cheeks at her intimate perusal.

He remembered vividly the times he'd tried to put her off with his ill manners, things that would've made his ma take him by the ear.

For a split second, he wished he'd tried harder, shown her that the trail boss wasn't all there was to him.

But she only grinned at him. "I'm aware of his faults."

Her look and the smile she extended to the rest of the table conveyed without words that his positive attributes were enough to counter such faults.

It gave him pause. Surely she didn't—Did she genuinely like him, even though he was uncouth and unkempt, a cowboy down to the bone?

Was she out of her mind?

Their food arrived, piping hot, and RuthAnn was distracted by ordering her daughter around as Melody tried to settle her son enough to feed him.

"You all right?" he asked Fran in a low voice when the others were focused on the young boy.

"Of course." She smiled at him, dazzling him once again. The play of lamplight on her features just enhanced the beauty that was there.

He was hard-pressed to remember why he wanted her to stay in Calvin.

He needed to focus on the job, and then worry about what to do with Fran.

He'd wired his pa's buyer earlier in the day and the man hadn't been sympathetic to Edgar's plight with the train. He'd said if the cattle weren't there on time, the deal was void.

Not good.

And what was Edgar going to do about his brother? He should probably check on the boys, and on Ricky.

But he couldn't muster the energy to leave, not when she kept shining at him like that.

"Melody, not like that." RuthAnn snapped at her daughter as the younger woman struggled with her son, now on her lap.

And got rewarded with a smear of brown gravy across her cheek.

Edgar wasn't much good at reading women, but he knew enough to see that Melody was near tears. Probably more from her ma's fussing and embarrassing her than from dealing with her son.

"Here," he said.

He picked up the tot and plopped him on his own knee.

Beau Jr. looked up at him in amazement, eyes wide and focused on Edgar's face.

"Hullo, little man. You want to give your ma a break? I don't think she's gotten to eat one bite of her food," he said.

He gave the boy a piece of bread from his plate, and the kid squeezed it tightly and started to gnaw on it, mostly drooling all over Edgar's pant leg.

Edgar kept one hand on the youngster, who was wiggly but not any more so than his nieces and nephews or brothers and sister, come to think of it. He ate with his other paw, just like he'd done dozens of times before at Sunday lunch.

Melody and her husband looked on in amazement.

But it was Fran's admiring gaze that he felt acutely as he finished off his plate. Appetite restored.

In the lobby RuthAnn disappeared up the stairs but Melody and her husband and baby remained.

"I'm sorry about Mother," she said.

Edgar shrugged it off.

She touched Fran's forearm. "I hope you didn't take offense. Everyone around Bear Creek knows the White family, and Edgar is known for his responsibility now that his two older brothers married. He's a fine catch."

Fran's cheeks pinked. "Oh… Thank you."

"Listen," Beau said. "This was the first time in the month we've been down here that Beau Jr. has been calm."

"It's true," Melody said. "I think being around Mother puts him on edge."

Edgar wisely kept his trap shut about that.

"Would it be too much to ask—" Beau started, and then cut himself off.

"Y'all want to take a walk around the town? Let me and Fran watch the kid for a half hour or so?" Edgar asked.

The relief on the man's face was almost comical. "Would you mind terribly?"

"Not at all," Fran said, reaching out for the toddler. He came into her arms easily, reaching for one loose curl that had slipped out of her hairdo and rested on her neck.

Edgar wanted to do the same thing.

He ushered her outside of the noisy lobby.

The evening air cooled her flushed cheeks as they brought little Beau Jr. outside and found a quiet spot at the end of the boardwalk between the hotel and another building.

The little tot seemed enamored with crawling up and down the step. Repeatedly.

"He's getting dirty," she pointed out.

"They didn't tell us to keep him clean," her husband returned. "Only to watch him. Besides, little boys need to get dirty every once in a while."

She smiled as he sat on the top step, long legs reaching all the way to the ground. He supported the boy with one large palm as Beau Jr. pulled up, using Edgar's pant leg for support.

"You're good with him," she said.

"Lots of practice." He grinned back at her over his shoulder.

The sight of him sent a thrill of pure joy through her. Imagining him with a child of his own, of their own, sent a pang of longing throbbing right through her heart.

"Have you never wanted…children of your own?"

He didn't answer.

She thought perhaps she'd offended him until she saw him staring at a man lounging against the outside of a building across the street, partly hidden by a support post.

"You know that guy?" Edgar asked, voice low.

"No. Why?"

He stood, bringing Beau Jr. and tucking the boy against his side easily, as if he did it every day.

He took her hand and for a moment her heart soared.

Until he said, "He's been watching us since we stepped out of the hotel."

A shiver went through her. Could he be one of Underhill's men?

"He might be trying to figure out where the kid came from. Are you a good little distraction? Are you?"

Edgar's high-pitched baby talk eased her a little. He wouldn't let anything happen to the child. She knew that, knew him.

She could trust him to take care of her.

"What should we do?"

"Nothing. He ain't making any moves. I'd better check with the boys. Where'd your parents get to?" He switched mid-stream to talking to the little boy again, though his eyes strayed over the tot's head across the street.

"Do you want me to walk down this way a bit?—"

He caught her arm before she'd moved an inch. "I want you to stay right where you are."

She was caught in the intensity of his eyes until a feminine voice rang out. "There you are. Beau Jr., were you a good boy?"

Edgar turned to release the toddler to his much more relaxed parents, manufacturing a smile.

He was protecting her. Not only Emma, but her as well.

There was something between them. She knew there was.

Should she tell him about Underhill's accusations? She didn't know if they would hold water this far from Memphis, but she didn't want anything to come between them, not if there was a chance of making this relationship real.

Melody and her husband had barely turned away when Seb came running up the dirt-packed street, dust flying being him. He was red-faced, like he'd been running flat out.

Edgar stiffened beside her, his arm coming almost naturally in front of her. Protecting her again. "Trouble?"

"Ricky," Seb gasped.

Edgar ushered Fran to the room she was sharing with Emma with barely a peck on the cheek and a squeeze of his hand. Not the goodnight he'd been hoping for.

He left the girls under John's watchful eye and followed Seb down to the marshal's office? where his brother was in a holding cell with two other men.

Ricky bore the marks of a fistfight, a purpling bruise on his jaw and a scraped cheek.

"What do you think you were doing?" Edgar demanded, stomping right up to the bars.

Ricky got to his wobbly feet. He reeked of alcohol and was decidedly tipsy. Just what they needed.

Seb and Matty came behind Edgar but stayed in the jail doorway.

"Havin' a little fun," Ricky slurred.

"By starting a fight?"

"Didn't start it. Finished it though." Ricky belched, sending a waft of nasty-smelling hot breath in Edgar's direction. Ricky laughed.

Two others in the cell with him snarled, though neither made a move. One of them clasped a slab of meat over one eye and the other looked completely soaked.

His brothers shuffled their feet, and Edgar looked back to see the marshal thumping his way into the jail, making the small outer room pretty packed.

"We don't take too kindly to rowdy cowboys damaging property," the older, mustached man said.

"I understand." Edgar straightened his shoulders, trying to think how his pa would handle this mess. "My brother's sorry?—"

"You don't speak for me! I'm right here!" Ricky rattled the bars, his sudden irrational anger bursting forth.

Heat flared in Edgar's cheeks. His temper sparked but he tamped it down, knowing that whatever happened tonight could get back to Bear Creek. Or maybe they'd need to do business in the future here in Tuck's Station. Couldn't his brother think of things like that before he did something stupid like this?

"Shut up," he told Ricky.

"Pa might've left you to run the cattle, but you ain't my pa, and you ain't in charge of me."

Edgar wondered if his brother meant to sound so childish. It sounded like something a two-year-old would say.

A glance at Seb and Matty showed they were just as flabbergasted and embarrassed as Edgar was. Only Ricky seemed oblivious as he kept rambling on in the cell.

"There's going to have to be restitution," the marshal went on.

"How much?"

The number the man quoted had Seb whistling low. It would eat up pretty much all of the profits Edgar would have made from driving the extra cattle to sale.

"I can take care of myself—" Ricky went on, still slurring his words.

"Yes, and look where it got you," Edgar mumbled, his temper getting the better of his mouth.

Ricky rattled the bars close behind where Edgar stood. "What? What'd you say to me?"

He reached through the bars and took a swipe at Edgar. Of course, the alcohol slowed him down, and Edgar was easily able to duck backward and avoid the hit.

Matty moved in, getting between them to try and calm Ricky down.

"I'm gonna have to hold him overnight," the marshal said.

"He don't care," Ricky yelled, getting loud again.

Edgar's anger snapped. He shoved Matty aside and put his fist through the bars, grabbing Ricky's shirt. "I care what's right. I care about those girls. If one hair on their heads gets hurt because of your foolishness, I'll whip you so good…."

They both seemed to realize what he'd said at the same moment.

He cared about Fran. Not the cattle.

Ricky watched him with a smirk that made Edgar uncomfortable.

His heart pounded loudly in the sudden stillness.

The marshal pulled him away with a hand clapped on his shoulder before he really had time to process what he'd said so thoughtlessly. "What's this about girls in danger?"

An hour later, parked in the hallway outside the girls' room, back to the wall and Stetson over his face, the altercation with his brother replayed in Edgar's head.

How had things gotten so wrong-footed with Ricky? He didn't respect authority. The boy was twenty years old—plenty old enough to be responsible for himself. But he didn't have a grain of common sense in his head.

Ricky could ruin everything. The sale of Pa's cattle.

He'd already ruined Edgar's night with Fran.

He thought back to her face across the supper table. She'd defended him to RuthAnn Hurst. Maintained a lively conversation with the rest.

And when she smiled that intimate smile, just for him…

Even now, his heart started pounding.

Remembering his objections to being married was getting harder and harder.

He hadn't known Fran long. How could he trust someone who had only been a part of his world for a span of days?

She hadn't lied to him. Not once. Not even when she'd been clearly uncomfortable answering the questions he'd asked.

Back at the jail, the marshal had been concerned about the possibility of them being followed. If the men coming after Fran and Emma had had legitimate cause, there would've been some kind of notice to the local law. And there hadn't been.

It had settled something deep inside Edgar. It wasn't exactly a verification that Fran's story was true, but it was close.

Seb had shared that he'd asked around town, an unobtrusively as possible, and found out there'd been a couple of strangers around the past few days. Not causing trouble, but snooping around.

But the marshal didn't have enough manpower to help them, especially once they moved the cattle out.

If anything happened, they were supposed to let the marshal know. Lot of good that did.

The man hadn't seemed particularly inclined to help them anyway, not after Ricky's bust-up at one of the saloons.

What would Fran think? Before supper, she'd challenged him by saying his forceful way with Ricky wasn't working.

Tonight's revelation at the jail had been a shock. Had he been softening toward her all this time?

Was he actually beginning to trust her?

Maybe the next two days on the trail would clarify things for him.

He didn't have to solve everything tonight. He was torn up about Ricky, tired from sleeping on the ground and watching cattle at night.

At the end of the cattle drive, could he really give their marriage a true chance?

He didn't know.

But for the first time…he wanted to try.