Page 21 of A Dangerous Heart
She felt exposed sitting here at the hotel restaurant. This was different from the picnic while she’d been with the McGraws. She was right back where she’d started.
“I want to go back with Jo and Tillie,” Ben insisted, his tone rising in pitch.
“We can’t go back to the ranch,” Eli stated. Throughout the journey to town, he had been mostly silent and taciturn, with only a muttered “Good, we can go back home” when they’d climbed into the wagon. Isaac had been tight-lipped andbrooding too. He’d promised to come back to the restaurant after he’d handled his business at the lawyer’s office.
The brown stains on the tablecloth mocked her. Maybe he wouldn’t return, and they’d be left to fend for themselves. All her high hopes had crumbled. She prided herself on her warm demeanor and charm, but Isaac had stayed out of reach, avoiding any real conversation.
“Yes, we can.” Ben’s face scrunched, his eyes filling with tears. “Jo said?—”
“You don’t know anything. Shut your trap.” Eli lambasted poor Ben, the acid in his voice so like his father’s it rocked Clare. She put a hand on Eli’s forearm and squeezed. When he met her eyes, she knitted her brows and formed a silentshhas the waitress approached.
She would have to get a job. Her mind ran through the limited options she and Kaitlyn had discussed. School teacher was out. She didn’t have a formal education, although Anne had taught her to read and do simple sums. A seamstress? She could darn socks and repair tears, but that was the extent of her skill with a needle. Laundress seemed to be her only option. She would ask the waitress if the hotel was hiring. But where would they stay? A rented room? Even that felt too exposed. Anyone asking questions in town—asking for a woman and two boys—could easily track them down.
The waitress, a buxom woman with ginger hair and a no-nonsense way of serving, had introduced herself as Pearl. She removed an empty soup bowl one table over and stopped at Clare’s table.
“Y’all want pie? Peach pie with fresh whipped cream today. I know for a fact that it’s one of Marshal McGraw’s favorites. Is he coming round here when his business is done?”
Ben’s eyes widened. At the mention of Isaac’s former job or the pie, Clare wasn’t sure. Eli’s gaze remained on his plate, but his face went pasty.
“We will take one piece of pie. Thank you, Pearl.” Clare threaded her fingers under the table. “I’m wondering if by any chance the hotel is hiring—a laundress or someone to work in the kitchen?”
Pearl tilted her head and pursed her lips. Clare’s cheeks heated.
“I don’t think so, dear. I’ll just see about that pie.” She bustled off.
“You can’t marry a marshal. Barlows don’t tangle with the law. That’s what Pa always said.” Eli’s mention of Victor was like touching a cactus.
They couldn’t stay in town. Isaac was no longer working as a U.S. marshal, but his reputation followed him, clung to him—just like her own.
“We will talk about it later,” she said, as Pearl reappeared with the peach pie in hand. She served the pie, then busied herself clearing a table by the window. Clare’s eyes trailed after her and caught sight of Isaac through the square panes of the front window. He stood on the boardwalk between the dance hall and the saloon. All the worries pressing in on her squeezed until she couldn’t breathe. She had to try once more.
“Eat your pie,” Clare told both boys. She set a firm hand on Eli’s shoulder and waited for him to meet her eyes. “Watch your brother. Stay here. Understand?”
Both boys nodded, but Eli’s expression was flat and unreadable.
Outside, a lively uproar spilled from the saloon. At the dance hall next to the saloon, someone plunked a tinny piano with a heavy hand. She made a beeline toward Isaac. He lifted his chin, and his gaze brushed over her. She slid her hand into herpocket and clutched his letter. She’d carried it with her to town as her backup plan, remembering that Quade had said it was a binding contract. What kind of person would use it against the McGraws? A Barlow. An evil person. She didn’t want to blackmail Isaac. The McGraws had been good to her and the boys, opened their home, shared their meals. She liked them. Well, all of them except the enigmatic man now a few feet in front of her. Her feelings for him were…she didn’t know. One thing was for certain: he’d be furious if she forced him into marriage.
The swinging doors of the saloon burst open. Shouts and commotion spilled out onto the street.
Bang!
A sharp crack split the air. Clare jolted, muscles tensing as her mind struggled to make sense of the chaos unfolding. A cowboy stumbled out to the edge of the boardwalk, teetered, then fell on his face. The gun in his hand discharged. The bullet hit the street, and a cloud of dirt erupted.
The echo of that gunshot gripped Clare’s very core. The past seeped into the present and conjured up the painful memory she had tried so desperately to bury. Her brother Billy’s face, frozen in time, materialized before her, his eyes wide with the same shock she felt now. Blood bloomed on his shirt. The street where he’d fallen, the shadows cast by the buildings—every detail was etched into Clare’s consciousness.
Her breath hitched, caught in a stranglehold. Time stretched and a disorienting haze settled over her senses. Every nerve screamed with the urge to run. Yet her feet remained rooted to the spot.
“Clare.” A hand closed over her elbow, breaking her from the memory.
“Clare, look at me.”
He’d finally said her name.
And she’d never heard his voice so gentle.
“How about we move across the street and away from this ruckus?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just led her across the street with that gentle hand beneath her elbow. Her knees were wobbly, and as they crossed the street, she let herself lean into his warmth and strength.
Instead of going into the hotel dining room, he led her around the side of the building and off the street. Her back was to the clapboard siding of the hotel when he released her. She leaned against it for support and closed her eyes.
