1
“Do that again Nick, and I’ll shoot you,” Frances Lancaster growled as she made a face at the mud he’d splattered on the hem of her ankle-high split skirt. She’d worn it instead of trousers expressly because she didn’t want to get muddy again today.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said with his own growl.
“This January thaw is anightmare. That’s one thing I miss about Indianapolis—its paved streets.” Frances shook out her skirt. Sometimes it seemed God was punishing her for wishing all women in the new century wore pants like the men. “If it doesn’t freeze hard and snow again soon, I hate to think of what a mess the mud will make of Luke’s wedding.”
Nick Reynolds gave a snort. “A mess? The mess is going to be all the highfalutin’ guests from England who are coming for the wedding.”
The only thing either of them was sure of was how crazy her brother was about the high-society lady he was going to marry in a few weeks. Checking on the fabric for Judith’s gown was one of their reasons for coming into town.
“And we get to deal with this mud all over again in the spring?” Frances asked.
“That’s what they tell me.” They’d finally reached the boardwalk, and Nick gave a sigh of relief. “This is my first Wyoming winter too, remember.”
“We should have just tied the horses instead of leaving them at the livery.”
“I’m not sure that would have worked.” He glanced up and down the street. “Lilac City’s roads are wider than most small towns I’ve passed through. I wonder how much it would cost to pave them. Since the Spindletop gusher, they’ve been trying out new ways to use oil for all kinds of things, including asphalt.”
“Hey there, Frances, Nick.” The deputy sheriff extended his hand to the young man.
“Hello, Charles,” she said to her brother-in-law. “We were just talking about how they should asphalt these roads.”
“They may have to with more people talking about buying those new automobiles. Doc was just saying he wants one, and you can imagine him trying to drive it in all that mud. But he needs to do something since getting more women in town has meant more marriages and then babies.” Charles grinned. He and Frances’s sister were expecting their first child some time in June, and their other sister was increasing too.
Frances exchanged a glance with Nick, but his expression was thoughtful rather than humorous. Was he fretting about his trip to Texas for his kid sister’s wedding in a couple of weeks? Frances hated to admit it, but she wasn’t looking forward to his absence either. Since the day she’d arrived in Lilac City last spring, her brother had put Nick in charge of watching over her. The cowhand from Texas had become a dear friend.
“What brings you two into town?” Charles asked.
“Iodine.” Frances scraped the last of the mud from her boot on the boardwalk as she watched the nervous behavior of the saloon owner across the street. “Luke wants us to look into some coal tar too in case he needs it.”
“Mud makes it tough on the cattle,” Nick added.
“I don’t envy you,” Charles said. “At least it’s keeping everyone busy, even if only cleaning up.”
“Maybe not busy enough.” Frances met her brother-in-law’s gaze and made a subtle gesture toward the saloon owner. “Looks like old Billy is up to something again.”
“What’s that?” Nick asked, looking the way she was gesturing.
“Idiot.” She smacked Nick’s arm. “You have to be more subtle. Sherlock Holmes would never do that.”
“Sorry,” Nick mumbled, his ears under his Stetson turning red.
“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Charles said, watching the older man. “Old Billy knows I’m watching him now, so he might decidenotto do something stupid.”
“Besides sell rotgut?” Nick asked.
From his expression, Frances guessed he spoke from experience. She found herself a little impressed he might have done such a thing, but it disappointed her too that he’d go into a saloon. Though that might be a little unfair. A lot of her brother’s cowhands liked to frequent the place, and she considered them her friends. Few of them were churchgoers like Nick, though. Him sitting in church every Sunday listening to a sermon didn’t match the image of him carousing in a saloon.
Had he gone a little crazy when he first got to Lilac City, completely free to choose for himself without worrying about his father or brothers and sisters and their spouses always watching over him? Frances understood the feeling, since she was the youngest. It’d helped a little when she and her sisters had fled to Wyoming. They weren’t trying to force Frances to play the part of a proper lady anymore. Except on Sundays.
“You’ve drunk his booze?” she asked.
“Only once, not long after I got here.” Nick crinkled his face in disgust. “If I wanted to kill myself, there’d surely have to be a more pleasant ways to go about it.”
“I hear that stuff’s enough to drop a man dead,” Charles said with a chuckle.
A memory from her dream the previous night hit Frances, and the corners of her vision blurred. Once again, she helplessly watched her father rise from the dining table and collapse. She clenched her fists and willed herself not to cry out, grateful for once for the lump in her throat. Uncle William would pay.
