She could tell from the way he was looking at her that, for the first time, he didn’t seem to be swallowing her line. Maybe she’d need to bait the hook with some sugar. She leaned closer to him and ran her hand through his hair. He stiffened. Good, like hypnotizing quarry. She whispered, “And maybe you could join me in bed, for I’m so cold, and I know you could warm me up just so . . .”
He took her arm with a firm grasp and yanked her up from the barstool, throwing a quick look at the barkeep. Lenora could tell he was flummoxed and ashamed over her. Mercy, what a saphead this man was. Getting his dander up over a drink or two.
“Come on, let’s go,” he told her, not meeting her eyes. She couldn’t afford to have him at odds with her right now. She needed him pliant, and since he didn’t drink, the best way to do that was to coerce him into bed. So she went along meekly, her head hanging a bit in mock shame, and walked with him to the waiting wagon.
While he untied the reins from the hitching post, she glanced around under her lashes to look for any disturbance in the street. Nothing. A normal day in this boring town. As much as she’d like to think she’d be safe hiding out on the homestead, she knew better. If Clayton showed up in Fort Collins looking for her, with his sweet and wily ways, no doubt he’d suss out that she was here, and would eventually find her. Even though he didn’t know the name she was using, he could probably describe her well enough for one of the old biddies in town to show a glimmer of recognition. And that’s all it would take to have Clayton hot on her heels.
She let Malcolm assist her into the wagon, and moaned, feigning some unnamable pain. His face softened, as if he felt bad for doubting her. Good. She could count on his compassionate heart to cut her some slack. And she only needed a short length of it to play out until she could figure out what in tarnation she would do next in order to get the gold so she could catch a train to San Francisco.
Chapter 10
Grace had never been inside the courthouse before. She’d had no reason to before now. But she’d decided while tossing in her bed restlessly late last night it was time to do what she’d put off all year.
Her shoes clicked on the tiled floor as she crossed the high-ceilinged spacious room to the information desk. A short man with curly hair and a serious face stood behind the counter busily sorting papers and stamping them with an ink stamp. She noticed three high-society women in a close huddle over by the courtroom doors, whispering among themselves. When they saw her, they stopped speaking. Grace felt their attention rest heavily on her. She kept her eyes forward and walked up to the desk, then waited patiently for the man to finish his stamping and attend to her.
Tildie had given her the afternoon off, for, after seeing Monty walk into the shop yesterday, Grace couldn’t concentrate on her work, and her head pounded mercilessly from crying. She had lain awake all night weeping, holding Ben close for comfort, and when the first streaks of dawn tickled the room, she rose and washed to get ready to go to work, exhausted and shaky. Her reflection in the mirror showed red swollen eyes and a wan complexion. It took every ounce of effort to brush out and pin up her hair and get dressed. She had no strength or courage to face the day, but neither did she want to cause any alarm or incite more gossip. Staying home would mean suffering Charity’s probing questions, and she couldn’t foster the thought of dodging such an interrogation. So she left Ben in her care with a cheerful smile and rushed out into the cold morning, a thin layer of ice crunching under her shoes as she walked, her mind numb and her heart aching.
The whole morning, Tildie had eyed her suspiciously but only shared the usual pleasantries. Grace feared the woman had seen the way she reacted when Monty came into the shop. No doubt she had. But what would she have thought? It was all Grace could do to pretend all was well with her world, when in reality it was shattered in a million pieces. With her employer’s keen eye on her, she could not focus and declared her head was pounding. Tildie sent her off to City Drug to fetch some powders, even gave her a coin to cover the cost. Grace mumbled her thanks and hurried out, feeling as though she were fleeing a jail cell.
The man finally looked up and stared at her through thick spectacles. His eyes widened, and he got a bit flustered.
“Good day, miss. I’m the court clerk—name’s Alan Patterson. How might I assist you?”
He smiled warmly at her and waited as she composed her thoughts. How much should she tell him? She laid her purse on the counter and said, “Thank you. I hope you can help me, but I’m not all that sure how to go about getting the papers I need.”