Читать книгу Western Spring Weddings: The City Girl and the Rancher / His Springtime Bride / When a Cowboy Says I Do - Kathryn Albright - Страница 9
Оглавление“Mama, I think ice cream is the deliciousest thing in the whole world! Can I have another dish?”
Clarissa set her spoon beside her teacup. “No, honey. You’ll spoil your supper. And it’s may I have another dish.”
“But Mister Cowboy said—”
“Mister Cowboy—I mean Mr. Harris is not your father.”
“Nobody’s my father, not since Papa went away.”
She sighed. “Your papa didn’t go away, honey. Your papa was lost at sea, remember?”
Emily surveyed her with interest. “What’s lostatsea mean?”
“It means he is not able to come back, even though he wanted to more than anything in the world.” Clarissa swallowed hard over something stuck in her throat. Thank the Lord the restaurant was deserted at this hour of the day. Her nerves were badly frayed. The waitress, Rita she said her name was, said it was too late for lunch and too early for supper, but tea and ice cream would be no problem. The woman wore a crisp blue apron and had a kind face; watching her bustle back and forth made Clarissa feel a little calmer.
The restaurant next door to the hotel was cool and dim, and the red-and-gold carpeting muffled the sound of footsteps. At least the room was not swaying, like the train.
Emily scraped her spoon around and around in her bowl of ice cream. “Can I play with Sammy tomorrow?”
“No, you cannot.”
“Then what are we gonna do tomorrow, Mama?”
Clarissa pressed her lips together. She hadn’t the faintest idea what she would do tomorrow. She had expected Caleb to meet the train, and now she felt completely at sea, alone in a strange town, a small—very small—Western town, where she knew no one, in a wild, untamed state she had only recently learned was a state, with exactly two dollars to her name. What on earth would she do when that was gone?
She drew in a long, slow breath and closed her eyes. She couldn’t simply sit and wait for Caleb to realize she was here and come to find her. What if he were away on business? He could be gone for days, even weeks. If he didn’t show soon, she must look for some sort of employment, she decided. Even though she had never worked a day in her life, she had Emily to think of. She had to do something.
The waitress approached. “More tea, ma’am?”
“Oh, no thank you. Rita, may I ask you a question?”
“Why sure, miss. Fire away.”
“Well...um, does this restaurant need a...a dishwasher by any chance?”
The waitress’s dark eyebrows went up. “You don’t look like the dish-washin’ type to me, ma’am. Besides, we already got a dishwasher, Rosie Greywolf.”
“Oh. I see.”
Emily perked up. “Izzat Sammy’s mama?”
“It is,” Rita verified. “Rosie’s been washin’ dishes here for more years than I can remember.”
“What about the mercantile across the street—Ness’s, is it? Would they need a clerk?”
“Prob’ly not, miss. Carl Ness has two daughters who help out after school and on weekends.”
Clarissa bit her lip. “You see, the problem is that I am running low on funds and—”
“You need a job, right?”
“I—well, yes, I do. Someone was supposed to meet me at the train station, but he failed to show up, and now...”
Rita propped her hands on her ample hips. “Who was it?”
“Caleb Arness.”
The waitress’s face changed. “Arness, huh?” She studied Clarissa for a full minute. “He a relation of some sort?”
“Well, no. Not yet, anyway. We were to be mar—”
“Aw, honey, I’ve heard tall tales in my time, but this one takes the cake. Take my advice and clear out of town as fast as you can go.”
Clarissa stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
At that moment Emily let out a cry of delight. “Look, Mama, it’s Mister Cowboy!”
* * *
Gray spotted them right off. Miss Seaforth was talking to Rita, and Emily was waving her ice-cream spoon at him. He took the empty chair. “Coffee, Rita. And add some brandy, would ya? Been dry for a month.”
“Sure, Gray. How was the drive?”
“Long. Miserable. Profitable, but I sure earned every penny.”
He turned his attention to Emily. “Had enough ice cream?”
The red curls bounced as she shook her head. “Nope. I’m never, never gonna have enough ice cream. It’s the bestest thing in the whole world, next to Christmas.”
Rita brought his coffee and he downed two large gulps that made his eyes water.
“Rich enough for you?” Rita asked with a grin.
He nodded, swallowed hard and gave her a thumbs-up. She chuckled all the way back to the kitchen.
“Mama won’t let me play with Sammy Wolf,” Emily complained.
“Greywolf,” Miss Seaforth corrected. “I am sure Mr. Greywolf is busy.”
Gray set his cup on the saucer. “I had the desk clerk take your suitcase up to your room, Miss Seaforth.”
“Thank you, Mr. Harris.”
“Uh, now that you’re here, maybe you should give some thought to a few things.”
“Oh? What things?”
“Well, for starters, whether you’re gonna stay or not.”
“Why, of course I am staying. Caleb—”
“Might not show up.” Gray downed another swallow of his ninety-proof coffee. “Might be he’s, uh, tied up somewhere on, um, business.”
“Perhaps. Nevertheless, I am sure he will come soon.”
He smothered a snort. She wasn’t sure of any damn thing. Clarissa Seaforth was a good bluffer, but the expression in those green eyes gave her away. Uncertainty warred with fear and something else he couldn’t pin down. Pride, maybe.
“Listen, Miss Seaforth, like I said, you might start thinkin’ what to do if Arness doesn’t show up.” Actually, if he was in her skin, he would be thinking what to do if he did show up. Run the other direction, he hoped.
“Emily,” she said suddenly. “Are you finished with your ice cream?”
The girl nodded. “Yes, Mama, but—”
“Then we must excuse ourselves and retire to our hotel room. Good afternoon, Mr. Harris.”
He watched the slim, graceful woman until she disappeared through the doorway, then chugged down the rest of his coffee just as Rita appeared at his elbow. “Want some more?”
“Want some? Yeah. Gonna have some? No. Gotta ride out to the Bar H while I can still mount a horse.”
* * *
By morning Clarissa knew she was in real trouble. Her meager funds would soon dwindle, and with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she acknowledged that the situation called for extraordinary measures. After breakfast she left Emily in the care of the kindly waitress and began canvassing up one side of the dusty street and down the other, looking for employment.
The dressmaker smiled but shook her head. The barbershop, the sheriff’s office and the blacksmith had no use for a female. That left the bank and the Golden Partridge saloon, and she soon found that the bank wouldn’t hire a woman, either.
Very well. She straightened her spine and stepped off the sidewalk. For the first time in her life she would walk into a saloon.
Inside the Golden Partridge it was dim and smoky, and even at this hour of the morning it smelled of something pungent. Tobacco, she guessed. And spirits. She halted just inside the swinging batwing doors to get her bearings, and in that instant a pall of silence descended. Even the piano player’s music dribbled to a stop.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” the bartender called out. “Ladies aren’t allowed in here.”
She clenched her fingers around the reticule holding the last of her money—two dollars. “I...I assumed that to be the case, sir. I was wondering if you...that is, would you have any employment available?”
The bartender’s meaty hand swiped back and forth across the expanse of mahogany countertop. “Not for a lady, no.”
“For what, then?”
The man paused to size her up. “Well, I dunno. Can you sing?”
