“Miss Martin, how is such a thing possible? You’re dressed quite like a Quaker from back east and you’re very young. Did your family come west and fall on hard times?” he asked kindly.
Ah, there was the pity she was used too and it was unwelcome.
“I fail to see how that’s any of your concern, Mr. Wainwright. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get inside,” she snapped, and with a twirl of her skirts she was gone.
What a strange little thing she was, Ty thought as he watched her make her way between tables and disappear into the kitchen. At first she appeared like a little sparrow in her somber clothing, timid and shy. Standing in the light from the café as he questioned her, he’d seen a spark of something else in her dark eyes. He couldn’t be sure if it was anger or interest, but he intended to find out a lot more about Miss Annalise Martin before the night was over.
“Oh, Annalise,” Laurie exclaimed when Annalise sailed into the kitchen and quickly hung up her cloak. “I thought something may have happened, and you weren’t coming,” she continued, noting Annalise’s flushed cheeks.
“No, nothing happened. What would you like me to do?” she asked, smoothing down her skirts and patting her hair into place. “I nearly got run down is all, but I’m fine really.”
Laurie looked at her strangely, but said nothing more about it. “I’m nearly out of clean plates, there are rolls in the oven that need to come out in a few minutes, and if you could slice some pieces off that roast I’d be grateful.”
Annalise took a clean white apron from a hook and slipped it over her head, tying it around her waist, and went to work. There would be time enough later for her to think about Ty Wainwright.
Lillian Piersal stood in the parlor above her millinery store and peeked through her lace curtains. The Duchess saloon had become a sore point between her and Mead from the time Callie Mae Walker took possession. It was bad enough watching her future brother-in-law, Matthew, go in and out of that place several nights a week, but now that Morgan was back, it was intolerable. To think the man she’d nearly married would frequent such a place. Well, it was just lucky for her they were no longer keeping company.
Mead Whittaker was much more manageable, or at least he had been. She was still mortified by what he’d done the last time she’d gone to his mother’s for dinner and she hadn’t returned since. Oh, she’d been asked, but she could hardly expect to keep her good name if word got out she was in the company of Callie Mae and her girls. Why, she’d probably never sell another hat and she was already having financial difficulties. In fact, if Mead didn’t marry her soon, she’d be forced to sell her shop and travel to Chicago to live off the charity of family.
It didn’t appear to her that Morgan’s return had improved anything. Of course, his family loved him and at one time she believed herself to be in love with him too. Now, however, she realized the narrowness of her escape. But for the hand of fate, she could be married to a man who not only associated with undesirables but also pinned a tin star on his chest, putting his life in danger. Why she could have been left a widow, possibly with children to care for like poor Mrs. Dixon, she thought with a shiver. Thank God she was now engaged to an up-and-coming young banker.
Matthew had been in the saloon well over an hour, and Lillian could hear the tinny sounds of the piano and the raucous laughter even though her window was closed. Through narrowed eyes, she watched Morgan enter the Duchess and turned away.
“I swear, Mead,” she said, “I have no idea what has gotten into your brothers. Your mother should put a stop to it,” she insisted.
“Put a stop to what?” he asked absently from behind his newspaper as he sat on the settee.
“To them treating that saloon like it’s their second home,” she snapped as she paced the small floor, stopping to adjust a knickknack here, a doily there. “It’s disgraceful.”
“They’re grown men, Lilly,” Mead sighed, heartily sick of having the same conversation over and over. “What they do in their free time is nobody’s business, least of all yours. I’ve heard nothing for weeks but Matthew this and Matthew that. Now that Morgan’s come home, you seem to think you have two other men to keep track of.”
“Well, they are going to be my family, once we’re married. I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect them to behave like gentlemen. It’s embarrassing.”
“You’ll be a sight more embarrassed when I pull you over my knees and bear your backside for a good spanking,” he warned as he folded his paper and stood. “You’re not marrying my brothers, you’re marrying me, and I’m not going to put up with this every time I come to call. If it bothers you so much, stay away from that damn window and stop watching every customer who goes in and out of The Duchess. I never knew you were such a nosy little thing.”
“I’m not nosy. I’m just concerned about the moral character of this community, where I happen to live,” she shot back, her hands balled into fists. “You should be concerned too. We’re going to raise our children here and the good citizens of this town should not be subjected to the kind of improper goings-on that Callie Mae brought to town.”
“Just what do you think goes on over at The Duchess?” he demanded angrily, planting his hands on his hips as he stared down into her face.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she sniffed, lifting her chin haughtily, “but whatever it is, I don’t approve.”
Mead started to laugh. It began as a chuckle that turned into a deep uproarious bellow of mirth. After several minutes, he wiped his eyes and straightened.
“You think it’s a brothel,” he accused, still very much amused. “You and the other ladies in town think little Miss Callie Mae Walker and her girls are running a whorehouse!”
“Mead Whittaker,” she cried, slapping his arm. “Don’t you use such language in my home, I won’t have it,” she insisted.
“I’ll use whatever language I choose to use,” he shot back. “I hope you don’t think that I will allow you to dictate my actions once we’re married. As far as Callie Mae and the girls, every one of them is a good girl, if you get my meaning, and I won’t stand here and let you spout off such nonsense. It’s a saloon, not a brothel. The men who go there want a drink, to play a few hands of cards, or maybe listen to a pretty woman sing a song or two. That’s it, nothing more. The women in this town are fired up over nothing, and I have a suspicion that instead of trying to encourage them to see reason, you—my little bride-to-be—are fanning the flames,” he accused, bending until they were nearly nose to nose.
“I’m not doing any such thing,” Lillian said, stomping her foot. “I just don’t like it, her and those girls over there doing Lord knows what.”
“You don’t like Callie Mae very much, do you?”
“Not particularly.”
“That’s odd,” Mead remarked as he strolled to the window and moved aside the curtain. “As I recall, you liked her well enough when she was mooning over Morgan all the time. Was that because she fed your ego, wanting a man that very clearly belonged to you? You were almost sickeningly sweet to her back when she was poor Callie Mae, loving a man who would never be hers.”
“That’s not true. I never cared for Callie Mae, even when she made a nuisance of herself trailing after Morgan and me. It was so pathetic really, but I tried to be kind. After all, I am a Christian.”
