CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
The run-down building in font of Belle appeared more dilapidated than she’d remembered. Mine? What to do? At least those infernal odors she’d noticed on the breeze a few times before were absent. The building was long and narrow. A large rock on the boardwalk propped the door open, revealing a dark interior. No use putting her task off any longer. She needed to go in and meet Old Man Little, as Henry had so fondly called him. At least taking care of business would take her mind off that shocking telegram Clint had shared, and thoughts about who could be responsible.
Gathering her courage, she stepped into the small room sectioned off by a wall and a closed door. She’d imagined horror stories about the tannery, and she was about to face them firsthand. Warm air closed in around her.
“Hello?” She knocked on the counter. “Anyone here?”
A few leather products hung on the wall: reins, tanned hides of all sizes that hadn’t been made into anything yet, floppy leather hats, leather chaps like Blake and the ranch hands wore. I’d like a pair myself. The inventory was next to nothing. She wondered how the place stayed in business.
“Hello?” she called again, knocking louder this time. Mr. Little was said to be nearing his ninetieth birthday. The man was hard of hearing and barely saw past the nose on his face.
The door to the back room opened to a gush of stinky smells. She resisted the urge to pinch her nose at the unpleasantness.
“Is someone out here?” a scratchy voice called. Mr. Little was halfway into the room before he saw her.
She had to step back to avoid a collision. “Hello.”
Thick, round glasses magnified his eyes, making them appear much too large for his face. He pulled up. “I didn’t see ya there, little missy. I hope ya haven’t been waitin’ long. What can I help ya with?”
She smiled and put out her hand. “I’m Belle Brinkman, John’s daughter. I’ve inherited the tannery from my father.”
“That’s right. Blake was in earlier. Said you’d be stopping by sometime soon.”
Blake? Already in town? She hadn’t seen him yet that morning. An exciting flutter, one she’d gotten all too used to feeling since their kiss, made her stomach feel light and airy.
“My condolences about your pa dying the way he did.” Mr. Little slowly shook his head. “He was a darned good fella. I liked him a lot.”
“Thank you, Mr. Little,” she said softly, looking into his too-large eyes. “That means more to me each time someone says it. I wish I’d gotten a chance to know him.” Her father had gained the whole town’s respect. “You sure have a nice collection of fine-looking items.”
A craggy smile exposed only a few teeth. “Kind of you ta say. Will you be coming ta work here?”
Before she realized her actions, she pushed out her hands as if to keep the shiver-provoking thought back. Immediately, she dropped her arms and smiled. “Actually, no. I’ll be spending most of my time at the ranch. I just wanted to meet you and have a look around.”
“Fine, fine. I won’t keep ya waitin’.” He turned on his heel. “Follow me, if you dare.”
There weren’t as many hides as Belle had expected. A few were in the process of being worked, she guessed. Skins were stretched across large racks, both plain leather and others with colorful pelts. Mr. Little explained the process as he went, using a minimum of words. When it came to his business, he was as sharp as a tack.
They finally arrived at the back of the room, where a window was blessedly open. Here hung a rack of four jackets like the one Nicole owned. She hurried forward to feel their softness, lifting one sleeve to her cheek. “These are beautiful, Mr. Little. Why aren’t you displaying any out front?”
He gave a good-hearted chuckle. “These are spoken for, that’s why. I ain’t as fast as I used ta be. At times I might have one or two for sale in the Toggery, but not often.”
Dr. Dodge stuck his head in the back window. “Hello, Miss Brinkman.” He smiled amiably, making his laugh lines double up on his cheeks. “I thought I heard your voice.”
Belle felt a rush of affection for the middle-aged man who’d been so helpful with Katie. He must have been very good-looking in his time. His powerful build was quite impressive, even now, and his thick brown hair didn’t have a hint of gray. He glanced at Mr. Little. “You doing all right today, Stinky? How’s the rheumatism?”
Mr. Little frowned and shrank away from the window. “Not so bad, I guess,” he replied haltingly, then glanced sheepishly at Belle. “My nickname on account of the smells my tanning creates. My real name’s Marvin.”
How mean! She’d like to let the doctor know, in no uncertain terms, that she thought him a bully. That he should apologize to Mr. Little. But he’d done so much for Katie, looking in on her several times a day, she felt indebted. Every time they’d met, his earnest smile held an element of protectiveness, and he’d been nothing but kind in the past. But all those good feelings flew out the window at Mr. Little’s crestfallen expression. Calling an almost-ninety-year-old man Stinky was cruel, even if said in humor. Especially if said in humor. Particularly when it was apparent Mr. Little didn’t care for the name.
“The tannery butts up to the back of my office.” The doctor’s eyes searched hers. “We’re going to be neighbors. I’ve just come from checking on Katie a few minutes ago. She’s making strides against her fears.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said curtly, unable to say anything else. She glanced at Mr. Little’s clawlike fingers. Why hadn’t anyone already alerted her to the man’s poor health? “You’ll both be happy to hear I intend to bring in an assistant for you, Mr. Little.”
Shocked, the old man stepped back. “I can still do the work, missy. I wouldn’t josh ya.”
“Of course you can. I would never replace you. Not after seeing these beautiful coats. I’ll have an apprentice do all the tanning, lifting, and preparations so you’ll be able to go at a more leisurely pace. You’re a craftsman of the highest order, Mr. Little. Men like you are few and far between.”
The doctor frowned, clearly understanding he’d been put on notice. He straightened and pulled back from the windowsill he’d been leaning on. “I’ll be on my way. But before I go, I’ll pass on that your sisters are preparing to visit the sawmill, in case you’d like to stop over.” He tipped his hat. “Good day.”
She wondered how much Mr. Little had been able to hear. His face had brightened when she’d explained her intentions about hiring an apprentice. She smiled and moved closer.
“May I order a few of these coats for Christmas presents?”
His eyes widened. “How many would a few be?”
“One for each of my four sisters.”
He ticked off the months on his fingers. “I might be able to get them done.”
“And one for me,” she added quickly. From the moment she’d seen Nicole’s, she’d wanted one.
He gave her a wink and nodded.
A loud knock sounded on the front doorjamb. Startled, they both whipped around.
Blake.
She hadn’t seen him since the kiss. Instantly, her heart rate kicked up, and she wondered what they would say to each other. He was too far away for her to see his eyes, but she had the distinct impression he was smiling.
He came forward, his Stetson dangling in his fingertips. When he was close, he halted and glanced around. “Well, what do you think, Miss Brinkman? Does your new endeavor suit you?”
She smiled sweetly, knowing full well he was teasing. “I’m intrigued, Mr. Harding. And I’ve so enjoyed the tour Mr. Little gave me. He certainly knows his business, and has graciously taken the time to explain the process for taking a hide to a finished product in depth. I can’t thank him enough.”
“Tweren’t nothin’, missy,” he responded quietly. “Anytime you want another, you just let me know.”
“Thank you, I will. I’ll bring my sisters.”
As if five of John’s daughters at once were too much to think about, the shaping tool he held in his hands dropped to the floor with a clatter.
Blake bent to retrieve the utensil, and Belle took that opportunity to study his profile. It felt as if she hadn’t seen him in years. She was parched for the sound of his voice. She hadn’t dreamed she would get the chance to talk to him today.
“Mr. Harding, did you want to see me?”
“I do, if you have a moment. I have a little good news.”
“That I could use. Shall we speak out front?”
“That’s as good as place as any.”
So polite. The conversation felt funny.
She bade Mr. Little goodbye and headed for the front door, with Blake following behind. Outside, she turned to face him. “What’s the good news?”
“We’ll be finished with the cattle sooner than expected. And the wrangler’s outfit coming by to pick up the herd can come early. We’ll be able to button this all up by Friday.”
That’s the good news? Funny he would search me out for that. But yes, she was happy they’d limped their way through and all had ended well. “That’s wonderful.” She was avoiding his gaze. Heat rose to her cheeks. What else should I say?
“And . . .”
“There’s more?”
When he laughed, tingles danced up her back. He certainly is in a good mood this morning.
“We broke ground about an hour ago. A group of thirty builders showed up early and ready to work. If you get time later today, you should come out and watch. That is, if you have an escort. If you can’t find one, I’m sure Clint will bring you out as soon as he’s free. The house will go up fast with so many men on the job.”
Having to be careful was cumbersome. “Can’t I ride back with you?” Across the Old Spanish Trail and then the open lot, she could see movement at the mill on the other side of the river. She’d yet to go out there herself.
“I’m riding out in the next hour. I just came into town this morning . . .” His voice faded away.
That was curious. With all he had to do of late, she was surprised to see him. “For what?” She sucked in a breath when the truth dawned on her, and she searched out his gaze, unable to stay away a moment longer. “You came all this way to check on us?”
He slowly lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Guilty as charged. How’s Katie? And everyone else? Were there any problems last night?”
“No problems, but there is alarming news.”
His brow fell. “What?”
“The sheriff went to Dove Creek to question Katie’s kidnappers—but they’d been released. The deputy there had received a fabricated telegram, supposedly from Sheriff Dawson, telling him to let them go.”
Blake’s jaw flexed several times as he studied the horizon. “Whoever’s responsible is bold.”
“Clint already spoke with the telegraph operator. Says the door was jimmied and a message sent while the office was closed.”
“He believes him?”
She nodded.
“Then the sooner you’re all out at the ranch, the better.”
“I’m not sure all my sisters want to live out there. Seems they’re beginning to enjoy the town. And there’s more bad news . . .”
“More? What could be worse than that?”
“Henry got a lead on the Crowdaires. They’re on a ship bound for the far reaches of the world. Finding them now is going to be tremendously difficult.”
He gazed at her as if for the first time, studying her face.
He must have skipped shaving that morning because, once again, an intriguing dark shadow covered his sturdy jaw. The whiskers blended in with the beginning of his scar. She felt so close to him, having pondered what was going on between them all night—that is, if there was something between them. Men don’t just go around kissing women without a reason, do they? She was mixed up, and he was the only one who could sort the puzzle pieces for her. If nothing else, he was a good friend—one she never wanted to lose.
“Your pain never seems to end, does it, Belle? I’m sorry about that, those scoundrels getting away—for now. But I won’t let them go without a fight. You all deserve that, at least. Your pa used to say, ‘Hurt makes you stronger, fear grows your courage, and heartache makes you smart.’” He grasped the post and gave her a smile. “It’s not much comfort, but it’s something.”
“You’re wrong. My father’s words are much comfort, and you’re so generous with them. Thank you, Blake.” The sun had grown higher, casting them in the shade of the roof. Boldly, she grasped his hand and gave a small tug. “I want to ask a question, and I want you to answer honestly. Will you do that?” His brow arched stubbornly, so she pointed a finger in his face. “I mean it, Blake. Promise me.”