Something Like Love Read online

  Olivia genuinely hoped her responding smile didn’t appear as false as it felt.

  Harriet turned to get a side view of the big bow on the capped sleeve. “My Henry is going to be speechless.”

  Olivia didn’t doubt that in the least.

  “I’ll be the envy of every woman in town.”

  The Elders Ball celebrating the founding of Henry Adams was going to be held later this month at the spanking-new town hall. All of the residents of the Great Solomon Valley would be attending, and Olivia had been sewing for the past six weeks to accommodate the ladies who’d wanted new gowns for the annual event. Many of the farm women couldn’t afford to waste money on a gown they’d only wear once or twice in their life, but Olivia was thankful for the wives of the cattlemen and businessmen who could, because their orders kept Olivia in business.

  “Olivia?” Mrs. Vinton asked, “are you going to the ball?”

  Olivia shook her head. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Olivia countered confidently, “I’m going to spend that evening resting and catching up on my correspondence. It’s been weeks since I’ve written my mother. There are notes from the last Elders meeting that need to be reviewed and minutes of the Historical Society to place in the ledger.”

  “A young woman like you should be at the ball.”

  “Thirty-two is hardly young, Mrs. Vinton, but thank you. And yes, I would like to attend, but since I haven’t been asked…” she shrugged. “I refuse to be one of the spinsters serving the punch and cake while everyone else is dancing. I volunteered my services last year, and frankly, it wasn’t very enjoyable.”

  Harriet nodded. “I understand. Well, an evening of rest will probably do you good. With all you do it’s a wonder you have time to sleep.”

  Olivia agreed. When she’d first settled in Henry Adams, Cara Lee Jefferson, the schoolteacher and wife of the sheriff suggested Olivia volunteer on some of the women’s committees as a way of getting to know her new neighbors. Olivia had taken the advice to heart and now, after working with the church, the school, the Ladies League, and the Historical Society, she knew most, if not all, of the women around. There wasn’t a day of the week that Olivia didn’t have a meeting of one sort or another.

  Mrs. Vinton surveyed herself in the mirror again. “I know you’re devoted to your business, but my nephew in Philadelphia is looking for a wife, and I believe you’d be perfect.”

  Olivia knew from previous conversations that Harriet had a large number of nephews back east. Every few months Harriet would come into Olivia’s shop touting the latest one’s virtues and marriageable attributes. “I don’t wish to marry.”

  “You keep saying that only because the right man hasn’t come along.”

  Amused, Olivia shook her head. “You need to go home and let Henry see you in your dress.”

  That shifted Harriet’s attention back to her mirrored reflection and away from matchmaking. “I do look fine, don’t I?”

  All the bows made Harriet resemble a back-east Christmas tree, but if Harriet loved the dress, nothing else mattered. “I’m glad you’re pleased with it,” Olivia said genuinely.

  “I’ll take it off now so you can wrap it.”

  A few moments later, an elated Harriet Vinton left with her dress and Olivia put the payment into her cash box.

  For the rest of the day, Olivia waited on customers in between working on dresses and hats. Reverend Whitfield’s wife, Sybil, stopped in for the dress she’d had altered so that it didn’t look so outdated. Sophie Reynolds, one of the town’s pillars and owner of the Henry Adams Hotel, came in to get the final fitting on the pale gold ball gown she’d be wearing to the Elders Ball. Unlike Harriet Vinton, the middle-aged but still stunning Miss Sophie had chosen a design that flattered both her figure and age.

  By the time dusk rolled in, Olivia had attended to half the women in the valley, or so it seemed. When she finally closed the doors at the end of the day, she was quite exhausted, but her cash box was smiling.

  Olivia operated her shop out of the front of the house and lived in the rooms at the back, where there were two bedrooms and a small kitchen. Glad the day was over, she was on her way to the kitchen to prepare some supper when she heard the shop’s bell ring and the door opening once again. Thinking one of her customers must have forgotten something, she hurried back out, only to see her nemesis, Armstead Malloy, standing there. He was a short, muscular, middle-aged man with thinning hair and a pug-ugly brown face, whose features were almost overshadowed by the elaborate waxed mustache above his lips. What he lacked in height and handsomeness, he made up for in greed. Back east had capitalists like Jay Gould; Henry Adams had Armstead Malloy.

  Schooling her features, she said coolly, “Good evening, Mr. Malloy, may I help you?”

  He flashed that smarmy smile. “Miss Olivia. Just stopped by to let you know my offer still stands.”

  Olivia sighed her frustration. “Nothing has changed since our last conversation, Mr. Malloy. I have no desire to sell.”

  His jaw tightened slightly and his eyes held hers, but she didn’t back down. Malloy was a relative newcomer to Henry Adams, but in the year since his arrival he’d built the town’s newest and biggest mercantile. He was also buying up businesses. Some folks, like the owners of the old Sutton mercantile, had sold out gladly; others, like blacksmith Handy Reed turned him down flat. A few weeks ago, Malloy approached Olivia with an offer. She’d declined, of course, but he seemed to think she didn’t know her own mind and, as a consequence, kept coming around. So far, she’d been polite. Firm but polite.

  He picked up a length of velveteen fabric, studied it critically, then asked, “And my other offer?”

  Olivia did her best to hang onto her patience. “I’m not interested in marrying you, either.”

  “But you would grace my table so beautifully.”

  “I’m glad you think so, but I didn’t come to Kansas to marry.”

  He rubbed his fingers over the fabric. “How much did you pay for this?”

  “Why?”

  “Just thinking I could get it cheaper. The ladies would probably appreciate buying their yard goods at a better price.”

  Olivia knew a threat when she heard one, and she now disliked Armstead Malloy even more. Because of the size of his store’s orders, she was sure he could undercut her price. Women all over the valley patronized her, but if her customers began buying their goods from him, her shop’s profits would be affected, and he knew that. “I’m sure the ladies will make up their own minds. Was there anything else?”

  He looked around once more, taking in the dress forms, her Singer sewing machine, and the neatly stacked wooden boxes filled with threads, ribbons, and other items of her trade. “My next offer will be significantly less.”

  Olivia wasn’t sure what type of reaction he expected that statement to garner, but she refused to be intimidated by a pompous little man six inches shorter than she. “The size of your offer is of no consequence. My shop is not for sale, and I would appreciate you not approaching me on the subject—or the subject of marriage—again.”

  Her response tightened his jaw again, but to Olivia, that was of no consequence either, so she added, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Malloy, I’m preparing supper.”

  He studied her for a moment before saying in displeased tones, “As you wish, madam. But I will be back. Good evening.” He turned on his boot heel and left.

  Olivia threw the bolts on the door.

  Later, sitting in her kitchen, Olivia lingered over her bowl of soup and mused upon how life on her own terms was progressing. She continued to miss her mother dearly and wrote whenever she had the time, but outside of Armstead Malloy, she had no real complaints. Her shop was as successful as one could be stuck out in the middle of the Kansas plains. Realistically, she doubted she’d ever achieve the financial success she’d enjoyed back east, but she liked living in Kansas. Admittedly, on that first day when she’d stepped off the t
rain and taken a good, long look around at where this adventure had taken her, she’d wanted to get back on the train and return to Chicago. She’d been surrounded by open land as far as her eye could see; everyone she’d met had been a stranger, and truthfully, Olivia had been under her parents’ roof her entire life and hadn’t known the first thing about living on her own. Yet she’d survived; flourished even, in this unlikely place.

  Now if she could just convince Armstead Malloy to take his proposals elsewhere, then find a way to politely discourage folks like Harriet Vinton and the other well-meaning folks wanting to marry her off to their nephews, sons, and grandsons, life would be perfect. Smiling, she went back to her soup.

  Monday morning, Olivia took the stage to Ellis, a small town thirty miles away. A widow friend of Sophie Reynolds had commissioned two dresses for herself and one for her daughter, and Olivia needed to take the necessary measurements before she could begin sewing. The process would be an all-day affair, so they’d graciously offered her a place to sleep for the night.

  Tuesday morning, the work done, Olivia said good-bye to the widow and headed back to the depot for the ride home. She didn’t want to be late. If she missed the stage, the next run to Henry Adams wouldn’t be until Thursday.

  She arrived at the ticket agent’s table just in time to see Armstead Malloy standing there. As always, he was dressed in a cutaway suit that would have done a circus barker proud. This one had black-and-white checks. Her hopes for a nice quiet ride home plunged.

  “Well, well, well,” he voiced, pleased. “Are you following me around, Miss Sterling?”

  She dearly wanted to ignore him, but she’d been raised better. “No. I had some business to attend to here.”

  “I see.” He was looking her up and down with approval. “I came over to make arrangements to purchase the town’s funeral parlor.”

  Olivia wasn’t the least bit interested. “That’s nice.”

  “You know,” he said with a knowing tone, “I could rent us a coach and we could ride back to Henry Adams together.”

  “No, thank you. I prefer to wait for Mr. Gardner’s stage.”

  “You sure? We could talk on the way. Come to agreement on some things.”

  Olivia turned to look him in the eye. She could well imagine what things he was referencing. “No.”

  Before he could reply the stage arrived, and a grateful Olivia walked away to meet it.

  Once all the passengers were aboard, the driver, Old Man Gardner, and his rifle-toting aide got them underway.

  Ten miles into the journey, Olivia mused upon why she hated traveling by stagecoach. The interiors were cramped, uncomfortable, and, at this time of year, so hot inside that one could hardly breathe. Thankfully the ticket agent hadn’t oversold the conveyance, but Olivia still found herself squashed between a rather large jewelry salesman and his equally rotund wife. The woman smelled of cheap perfume, her husband, of liquor and cigars. Olivia got the impression the couple had had a spat sometime before boarding, because both looked put out, and they hadn’t spoken a word to each other.

  On the bench facing Olivia sat a young woman with a baby that had been howling nonstop for the last two miles. Next to the mother sat her sour-faced aunt, and next to the aunt, Armstead Malloy, who apparently planned to spend the entire journey staring down Olivia’s throat. It was July, it was hot, and she prayed the coach got to Henry Adams before her headache worsened.

  The baby continued to scream. The poor mother was doing her best to comfort the infant, but the aunt, instead of being sympathetic, offered nothing but criticism on everything from the way the babe was being held to the color and cut of his bunting. Olivia knew the young mother had to be weary of the woman’s smug sniping; Olivia certainly was.

  Over the baby’s din, Malloy tried to engage Olivia in conversation. “Where’re you from originally, Miss Olivia?”

  “Ohio,” she lied.

  Olivia kept her answers short. She didn’t want her words to give him even the faintest hope that she had changed her mind on either of his proposals. Good women were in short supply in western Kansas; men were known to attach themselves to unmarried women like grasshoppers on crops in hopes of making them wives. She wondered how many times she’d have to tell him before he’d believe that she’d not come to Kansas to marry.

  Malloy opened his mouth to say more when suddenly Old Man Gardner yelled down to the passengers, “Hang on, folks! Men riding down on us and I don’t think they’re wanting a cup of coffee.”

  The coach picked up speed. Malloy pushed aside the window’s leather shade and peered out. “I can see them on this side!” he yelled. “There’s two of them, and they’re riding hard!”

  The aunt cried, “Oh Lord, what will we do?!”

  Olivia had no idea, but she did her best to hang on. The increased speed was flinging the passengers up and down as the wheels hit the ruts and craters in the rough road. The jeweler hastily placed his case on his unsteady knees. He opened it and quickly began snatching out stones and bejeweled items, which he handed across Olivia to his wife. She shamelessly undid the top two buttons on her shirtwaist and stuffed the bounty into her ample bosom. Once the case was mostly empty, the blouse was once again done up, and they all held on.

  Gunfire could be heard now, and Olivia prayed over the din. Malloy pulled out a small derringer. Leaning out the window, he added his lead to the fight, shouting, “They’re gaining!”

  The mother was holding her baby close to her body, and her eyes were closed as if in prayer. The old aunt was moaning with fright and clutching her niece’s arm with a clawlike hand.

  Suddenly the coach pitched to one side and they were all thrown from their seats. Olivia could hear the scream of the horses mingling with her own, then everything went black.

  When she opened her eyes, she was still inside the overturned coach, with her back wedged against the door beneath her and the full weight of the passengers on top of her. The baby was screaming at the top of his lungs. Before Olivia could determine if she was injured, the door above their heads was snatched open and the dark, handsome face of outlaw Neil July stared down. Olivia’s eyes went wide. He was wearing a dusty brown vest over his bare torso, boldly displaying the well-defined musculature of his arms and shoulders. His face, so memorable, was filled with concern as he assessed each occupant individually, but when his black eyes settled on Olivia, he gave her a smile softened with recognition. “Well, hello…”

  Her heart began to pound. Speech seemed to be beyond her, so she offered an almost imperceptible nod.

  He grinned. “Let’s get you all out of there.”

  The furious baby was handed out first, and July expertly placed the howling infant against his shoulder as if he tended little ones all the time. Then the mountain-sized man Olivia remembered as July’s fellow robber Two Shafts appeared in the doorway. “Anybody hurt?”

  The aunt wailed, “Oh, please, just help us out of here!”

  Olivia gave a silent “Amen.” The hard wood of the door beneath her back was going to leave her bruised for weeks. That, coupled with the body weight piled on top of her, was making it difficult to breathe.

  One by one the shaken passengers were assisted out, courtesy of Two Shafts’s strong grip. Then it was Olivia’s turn. She reached out to grasp his large hand only to see him hipped aside by July, who looked in at Olivia and said softly, “This honor is mine.”

  All kinds of strange feelings swam through Olivia in response. She expected him to assist her, but instead he reached in, scooped her up into his arms, and backed out with her before she could blink. Her startled eyes flew to his amused ones.

  “Ever had a man carry you before?”

  “No,” she admitted, trying to maintain her dignity while shaking like a leaf. Her height generally discouraged this kind of thing.

  “Relax, I won’t drop you.” His vivid gaze seemed to look inside her soul. “Do you remember me?”

  Olivia toyed with lying but
settled on the truth. “I do.” The male heat rising from his body was so powerful that the feel of his arm beneath her thighs and the pressure of her hip against his chest made the July afternoon even hotter.

  “Do you remember what you owe me?”

  Her chin rose even as her eyes swept over the shape of his full lips. “Yes.” She’d been praying he didn’t.

  “Do I smell better than last time?” The sly, soft voice was filled with mischief.

  Olivia had always prided herself on being a levelheaded woman, but this man made her dizzy. “Put me down, please.” She wondered what the Creator had been thinking to make an outlaw so devilishly good-looking, because July was that and more.

  “You sure you can stand?” he asked softly, teasingly.

  Olivia could see the other passengers staring on curiously, especially Malloy. “Yes.”

  He eased her to her feet, and she nervously smoothed her blue traveling dress. “Thank you.”

  He was still standing too close. She took a step backward. It didn’t help. The effects of him could still be felt; teasing, touching, undermining her efforts to regain her composure. Something told her his dark eyes and mustached smile could dazzle a woman across a continent.

  “If you’re sure you’re okay, I’ll go and see how my brother is faring.”

  She adjusted her hat. “I’m fine,” she assured him. Or at least she would be just as soon as he departed and took his overwhelming presence with him. He tossed her a grin and walked away.

  The other passengers were still staring on, especially Malloy, but Olivia ignored them and reached into her handbag for her scented embroidered handkerchief. She dabbed delicately at the moisture forming on her neck above the white collar of her blouse and took in a deep, calming breath. In control again, she put the handkerchief away and walked over to join the others. Old Man Gardner and his second were looking at the axle. She hoped it wasn’t broken, but she really wanted to know why the outlaws had ridden down on the coach in the first place.

  The answer was apparently tied to a poker game, because when Olivia walked up, July was asking the tense-looking jeweler, “How much did you lose to my brother last night?”