hurt Nate or Tolley. Especially Tolley, whose heavy breathing gave evidence of his rising temper.
“Unfortunate meeting. Is that what you call it?” Hardison’s deadly cold tone hinted at imminent repayment for Rand’s crime. The man glanced over his shoulder toward the Friday-afternoon crowds meandering along Main Street. He rolled his head and gave an unpleasant laugh. “Just wanted to let you know I’m in town.” He slowly reached up to touch the brim of his hat in a mock salute, made as if to turn away and instead turned back. “Speaking of meeting, I almost had the pleasure of meeting a certain young lady from Boston on the train, but that sissified doctor and his cowgirl wife were playing nursemaid. I’ll be looking for an opportunity to introduce myself to her.”
Despite the horrifying pictures Hardison’s words conjured, despite the sick feeling in Rand’s gut, he sent up a prayer for grace. If this man hurt Marybeth... No, he wouldn’t let Hardison rile him. “You’ll find your sort of woman farther west, Hardison. Why don’t you get back on the train tomorrow and head that way?”
He snorted and gave Rand a nasty grin. “Watch your back, Northam. We’ll meet again.”
“Yeah, well, you’d just better watch your back, mister.” Tolley stepped slightly in front of Rand, his right hand poised to draw. “Why don’t we settle this here and now?”
“Now, now, young’un.” Hardison carelessly spat on the ground, but his right hand twitched. “Why don’t you go home to Mama and let the men handle this?”
“Forget it, Tolley. Don’t answer him.” Rand half faced his brother but kept one eye on the gunslinger. “Don’t say another word.” He recognized the signs. Hardison had no plan to draw. At least not now. Part of his fun was stalking his prey to make them nervous.
“I’ll be seeing you.” Again Hardison touched the brim of his hat, turned his back on them and strode away.
“Why didn’t you take him down?” Tolley pulled off his hat and slapped it against his leg, causing his horse to sidestep in alarm. “You’re going to have to sooner or later.”
“No.” Rand gripped his brother’s shoulder. “I made a deal with the Lord that I won’t kill another man like I did Cole Lyndon.” He’d do whatever was needed to protect his family and Marybeth, but never again would he kill someone to save his own life. Never again would he stare into the eyes of a man on his way to eternity, hopeless and without Jesus Christ because of him.
“Well, I didn’t make that deal.” Tolley glared after Hardison.
Rand swallowed hard as fear from his little brother gripped his belly. Why couldn’t Tolley understand? He’d told him all about his guilt, about the horror he’d faced watching a man die by his hand. And now here was another consequence of his actions. Tolley just might get himself killed copying what Rand had done, maybe trying to protect him. No matter what it took, Rand had to keep his little brother—and Marybeth—out of trouble.
Halting, discordant notes of piano music invaded Marybeth’s senses and pulled her from a dreamless sleep. Mrs. Foster had said some of her students would have their lessons this afternoon, and this one clearly was a beginner.
Before Marybeth had lain down in the four-poster guest bed, her thoughtful hostess had brought a pitcher of hot water, but she’d been too tired to wash. Now, despite the tepid water, she freshened up from her travels, at least well enough to hold her until the promised Saturday-night bath. Her ablutions complete, she brushed the dust from her hair and wound it back into an upswept coiffure.
Still mellow from her nap, she studied her appearance in the dressing-table mirror, recalling with pleasure the way Rand had looked at her, how his gaze had lingered on her hair and then her eyes. His obvious admiration, gentlemanly in every way, would thrill any girl, as would his thoughtfulness.
Regret over her own behavior cut short her moment of joy. Perhaps she’d been hasty in her opinion of him. Everyone she’d met or seen today regarded him highly. Perhaps she could open her heart to him, if only for friendship. He seemed interested in helping her find Jimmy, and even though he didn’t approve of her working, surely he would understand her determination to support herself. When he came to take her to church on Sunday, she would ask for his help in finding a job.
She opened her trunk to lift out a fresh dress and then dug beneath the other garments for clean stockings. She caught a glimpse of white satin underneath it all and gulped back an unexpected sob. Mrs. Northam had insisted upon purchasing a wedding gown for her, and there it was packed in tissue. Shame brought an ache to her chest. She hadn’t meant to lie to Rand’s mother, at least not consciously. She’d merely grasped for an opportunity to search for Jimmy sooner than if she’d had to work for endless years to make enough money to come to Colorado. And now survival might force her to sell the beautiful satin gown. That would of course destroy her friendship with Mrs. Northam and Rosamond.
Marybeth shoved her emotions aside. Regrets and shame wouldn’t do any good. Instead of waiting to see Rand on Sunday, she must get busy and solve her own problems. Today was Friday and most businesses would be closing soon. She must go back to the center of town and search for a job for which her skills suited her. At the least, she could locate the best places to apply on Monday. Once she changed out of her traveling ensemble and put on a black linen dress appropriate for office work, she grabbed her parasol and made her way toward the staircase.
As she descended, she smiled at the uneven three-four meter of the piano piece, which didn’t quite obscure the melody of a Strauss waltz. Having had her own struggles to smooth out that same meter, she couldn’t resist peeking into the parlor.
A dark-haired girl of perhaps twelve years sat ramrod-straight on the piano stool, her fingers arched over the keys. Mrs. Foster sat in a chair beside her, wearing a strained smile.
“My dear Anna, I don’t believe you’ve been practicing enough this week.”
“No, ma’am, I haven’t.” Anna sat back and crossed her arms in a rebellious pose. “I don’t want to play piano. I want to learn to ride and shoot like Miss Maisie and her sisters.”
“Laurie Eberly plays, Anna, and enjoys it very much.”
“Humph. She’s the only one.”
While Mrs. Foster sighed, Marybeth ducked back out of sight and stifled a laugh. Oh, how she remembered the days of resisting Mam’s lessons. Now she wouldn’t trade her skill for the world. The memory of Rand’s approval when she’d spoken of wanting to play caused a little hiccough in her heart. To reward all of his kindness, she would find out which songs he liked best and play them for him at the first opportunity.
“Well, my dear,” Mrs. Foster said, “your brother insists that you learn, so let’s try to get through this, shall we?”
After heaving out a loud sigh, Anna resumed her hesitant playing just as someone knocked on the front door.
Marybeth stepped into the parlor. “Let me answer that for you.”
“Please do.” The widow nodded her appreciation even as she frowned at Anna.
The front door boasted an oval window with an exquisite etching of wildflowers. Through the glass, Marybeth could see a well-dressed young gentleman, bowler hat in hand, gazing off toward town as he waited to be admitted. When
