in a breath, sharp with the scents of cattle and sage and the barest hint of lilac. He hadn’t noticed before today that she wore perfume.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
“No, I don’t.” He thought about the life he’d had, rich and full of promise, before the unthinkable had happened eighteen months ago. What would he have thought of Dora Fitzpatrick then? “I don’t,” he said, “but I’d like to.”
Chapter Four
“I want that painting removed by the time I return from church.”
“Whatever you say, Miss Dora.” Jim continued sweeping the broken glass, cigar butts and other evidence of the saloon’s profitable Saturday-night business into a tidy pile near the swinging double doors.
Dora gazed at her reflection in the mirror above the bar and adjusted her hat. “I mean it, Jim. And I’d like you to lock the doors after I leave. The saloon is closed. No one’s to be admitted.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I know you think I’m being unreasonable. But I’m certain Tom and Delilah, and the…um, girls, can find decent jobs elsewhere.” She meant to retain Gus and Rowdy to take care of the place, and to help her with the conversion of the saloon into a school—if she could afford it. She wasn’t certain, yet, that she could.
Jim hadn’t lied. Last night’s take, together with Friday’s, had been enough to pay the weekly salaries of the staff, in addition to one of the outstanding bills from a local merchant. She’d have to make arrangements to pay the rest of her father’s debts over time.
Surely the town council would see things her way. Last Call was in desperate need of a school, and one less saloon could hardly matter. She was certain John Gardner would help her convince them, and Sunday services at the Methodist church in town was the perfect place to begin her campaign.
“Are you ready?” Chance stood silhouetted in the entrance, morning sun at his back, casually twirling his watch fob.
“Perhaps I should have asked you to lock the doors sooner,” she said to Jim.
The bartender shot him a grin.
“I’ve got the buckboard right out front.”
Surely he didn’t think she was going to church with him? Did gamblers even go to church? She didn’t think so.
Snatching her reticule off the bar, she walked toward him. “You’re supposed to be leaving today.” As an afterthought she checked her pocket to make certain her diary along with her father’s letter were tucked safely inside.
“Not before church. Wouldn’t be proper, now would it?”
She disregarded his open appraisal of her attire as she approached, then ducked neatly under his arm and out the door. She was seated on the buckboard, reins in hand, before he realized her intent.
“Whoa!” he called as she snapped the reins.
She didn’t stop, but she did look back at him. He was quite the gentleman in his Sunday best. If she didn’t know better, she’d peg him for a prominent businessman or cattle baron. He wore a three-piece suit she hadn’t seen before, his ever-present gun belt and a hat. She noticed his leather boots were polished to a high sheen.
She also noticed that Silas was standing by, saddled and ready, munching new grass alongside the hitching post. She frowned, first at the horse, then at Chance. He smiled at her in return, much like the cat who ate the canary.
What’s he up to now? Whatever it was, she wasn’t going to wait around to find out. It was already half past eight, and services began promptly at nine according to Jim. She urged the horses faster, and the buckboard rumbled down the road toward town.
A quarter mile into the trip, the ranch house just out of sight, Dora jerked the reins as the left rear axle of the conveyance hit the ground with a thud. “Good Lord!” The buckboard had lost a wheel.
A moment later the horses reared.
Chance appeared out of nowhere on Silas, ready to offer assistance. He sprang from the paint gelding and quieted the spooked team. Silas shot her a bored look as Chance offered her his hand. “Let me help you down.” She was just about to take it, when he said, “Looks like you’ll have to let me escort you to church after all. We can ride double on Silas.”
Truth dawned as she met his gaze.
“I don’t think so.” Avoiding his proffered hand, she hopped to the ground and inspected both the axle and the wheel. She’d learned a thing or two about investigation from her mystery novels, and put her powers of observation to work.
As she’d suspected, neither the axle nor the wheel had given way from any natural cause. The axle pin holding the wheel in place had simply been removed. Removed by Chance Wellesley.
“You did this deliberately.”
He cast her a look of pure innocence. “You don’t think I’d intentionally try to make you late for church, do you?”
Oh, he was good, all right. Any troupe of players would be pleased to have him as their comic lead.
“I do.” She kept her anger in check. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. “I am clueless, however, as to your motive.”
He unhitched the horses from the buckboard, pointed them toward home, and gave them each a wallop while letting out a “Yee-ha!” that would rival any cowpuncher’s. The horses took off. “They know their way back. Rowdy’ll come looking for the buckboard once he sees them.”
The man had no scruples. She was just about to dismiss him with a pithy insult and make her way into Last Call on foot, when her father’s surrey rumbled into sight on its way to town. Aboard were Delilah and her six protégées, as she liked to call them.
“It’s a long walk,” Chance said. “And that church service starts on time. Ride with me, Dora.”
She shot him a deadly look. Turning on her heel, she set off at a brisk march.
Delilah cackled behind her, and the girls dissolved into giggles as their surrey rumbled on, catching her up. Chance called after her. It should have given her great pleasure to ignore him, only she couldn’t forget their conversation yesterday morning.
It was as if he were an entirely different person when they’d stood together looking out across the wide valley at what remained of her father’s cattle. He’d spoken passionately about ranching, the land, what a man could make of himself if he so chose. The way he’d looked when he’d said it, the longing in his eyes was what she remembered most.
“Honey, it’s nearly nine.”
Dora was jarred from her thoughts as Delilah pulled the conveyance to a halt just ahead of her.
“Hop up here next to me, and we’ll get you to church, pronto.” She shooed one of the girls to the back, and patted the seat next to her.
“Oh, no, I—” She almost said couldn’t, but stopped herself. She didn’t want
