shirttails into his pants. “A little meaningless fun, that’s all.”
“Not in my book.” Mary tucked her free arm into Polly’s and took another step down the street. “Let’s go.”
Another man rounded the corner, blocking their path. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Will. Something about his presence...
Whatever it was, it couldn’t be a good feeling, the way her windpipe felt as if it was closing up. Mary cleared her throat. “I see you’ve found each other. Now you both can leave me alone. I want nothing more to do with the lot of you.”
She tugged at Polly’s arm to go around them, catching Polly mouth the question Two beaus? at her. No, she didn’t have two beaus. She’d only ever had the one, but...
Will’s eyes were firmly upon her. Deep, probing eyes that made her feel more undressed than the woman standing next to Ben.
Ben said something, but she didn’t hear. Didn’t want to, for that matter. Determined not to be caught up in further conversation with either man, she practically sprinted to Miss Betty’s, pulling a breathless Polly behind her.
Only once they were seated in Miss Betty’s kitchen, cups of tea in front of them, the serving girl dispatched to fetch Miss Betty, did Mary speak.
“So now you understand why I can’t marry Ben.” Polly gave a nonchalant look. “They all do it. Might as well accept that fact. You’ll marry eventually, then look aside when he seeks his entertainment.”
Mary’s face burned. Not just with the casual treatment of marriage, but with the reminders of what her family had suffered due to her father’s indiscretion.
“Frank isn’t like that,” Mary retorted. Some men could be trustworthy.
After casually setting her teacup down, Polly gave half a smile. “But he’s a rare one. Most men think nothing of visiting State Street.”
“Polly MacDonald!” Mary glared at her friend. “Your mother would tan your hide if she heard you being so vulgar. Like one of—” she looked around, hoping none were listening, and lowered her voice “—those women.”
Polly picked up one of the cookies the kitchen maid had set before them. “Those women happen to be onto the truth about men. I’ve talked to some of them on our visits, and I think they’re quite nice.”
Then, as though she was sitting in her own mother’s kitchen, Polly took a large bite of cookie.
Quite nice. Mary squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to count to ten. One of those quite nice women had trapped her father and foisted a child on him, a child that her brother was forcing them all to accept as their sister. Oh, it wasn’t little Nugget’s fault. In truth, Nugget completed their family in a way she never thought possible.
But it didn’t make her father’s actions right.
She knew she should be able to forgive and move on, especially as Frank’s sermons were full of lessons about everyone falling short of the glory of God, but somehow, these women and their sins bothered her the most. What was the benefit of finding riches when your soul would burn from your evil deeds?
She’d thought that after two months of helping Frank’s mission to these women, it would be easier. That reminding herself of the good Miss Betty had done for her family would lessen the pain of witnessing so many mired in sin.
But it hadn’t. Maybe her inability to come to terms with her father’s deception was more about her own. If only Mary hadn’t been so enamored with the idea of having a beau that she’d been blinded to the truth. She’d lived in the fantasy that she and Ben would get married and get her and her siblings out of Aunt Ina’s home. She’d thought that temporarily deceiving everyone about Ben would be worth it in the end because they’d finally be free. But Ben had lied, and Mary’s lies had all been for naught.
Was that what her father had done?
No, she couldn’t dwell on such things.
Mary opened her eyes to see the mirth in Polly’s. “It still bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“Wouldn’t it bother you?”
Polly’s casual shrug was meant to catch her off guard, but Mary saw the pain in her eyes. “It’s what men do. The sooner you accept it, the better off you’ll be.”
Now she knew Polly wasn’t talking about Mary’s father, but about the man who’d courted Polly—as a lie. It was probably hard for Polly to accept that there were still some honorable men out there.
Lies. Responsible for hurting so many people.
The maid returned to the kitchen and offered a small curtsy. “Miss Betty’s not up to receiving today, but she says to tell the pastor that she appreciates his kindness in remembering her.”
Mary smiled as politely as she could, hoping that her harsh words hadn’t been overheard by Miss Betty. It wasn’t Miss Betty’s fault that Mary’s life had been upended by another woman in her profession. But if her father hadn’t met that other woman, then perhaps he would have come home in time to save their farm. Maybe then her mother would still be alive. And maybe she might have never met Ben at all. Then her life and family wouldn’t be the horrible mess it was now.
* * *
Will caught up with the ladies as they exited the brothel. What were they thinking, visiting a house of ill repute? Two single ladies, alone? Thankfully, he’d decided to return to the saloon to see if he could learn more about Ben in the daylight.
“Allow me to escort you home,” he said, stepping in stride with them. “It’s not safe for you to be here.”
Mary’s glare was sharper than any of the glaciers that had carved out these beautiful mountains. “We come here every week to bring food to Miss Betty. We’re perfectly safe.”
He might not have known her well, but Will could still hear the fear in her voice. But what was she afraid of? Him? Or State Street?
“But we’d be delighted to have your escort,” her friend added, giving him a dazzling smile. “I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance, though you’re clearly familiar with Mary.”
The scowl on Mary’s face gave him an impish pleasure, almost like when he used to pull Nancy Shaw’s braids back in school. Oh, how she’d hated it when he did that. But there was something about giving those braids a tug that always made him grin. At ten years old, he’d been sure he’d marry Nancy Shaw. But she’d moved away and left him with no one else to tease.
So it was with a giddy feeling in his stomach that he tipped his hat to Mary’s friend and said, “Will Lawson, at your service.”
“Polly MacDonald.” She gave a mock curtsy and wink that told him she was enjoying tormenting Mary just as much. “And don’t mind Mary. She’s just—”
Mary’s elbow to her friend’s side was not at all discreet. “Enough. We’re due home, so let’s not dally. I’m sure your mother could use our help with the little ones.”
“Help?” Polly’s indignant sputter forced Will to hold
